


Uncharted Territory

by octothorpetopus



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Het Relationship, Elections, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, I hope you like commas, M/M, Non-Canon Relationship, POV Alternating, Post-Canon, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 48,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27012235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octothorpetopus/pseuds/octothorpetopus
Summary: Primary challenges are a rare, but not unheard of occurrence in a presidential election. Then again, the challenger usually isn’t the president’s own former deputy chief of staff, and his campaign isn’t headed by the exact same people who won the incumbent president his office. The 2010 election is shaping up to be one hell of a fight.
Relationships: Danny Concannon/C. J. Cregg, Josh Lyman & Sam Seaborn, Josh Lyman/Donna Moss, Will Bailey/Sam Seaborn
Comments: 107
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

As she strolled through Griffith Park, feeling the sun on her sun-tanned skin, C.J. had to admit that she didn’t miss D.C. Los Angeles was calmer, somehow. At night, instead of being escorted back to her tiny apartment in Adams Morgan by secret service agents at midnight, she took the train home at 6, back to her townhouse in Santa Monica, where she was greeted by the red-haired reporter-turned-professor-turned-husband and spitfire 1-year-old who shared his red hair and her green eyes. Today, they had taken a trip into the city to walk around the observatory, and as C.J. watched Danny push their daughter’s stroller, D.C. became a rose-colored memory.

“It’s been awhile since we’ve seen anyone,” she said quietly, trying not to wake the baby, who had fallen asleep mid-walk. “Any of our friends, I mean.”

“We just saw Anne and Eddie last week,” he protested, and C.J. grinned. Anne and Eddie were their L.A. friends, a couple who taught with Danny at UCLA’s journalism school.

“No, I mean our old friends.” Danny nodded.

“You want to see them? I’m sure we could take a long weekend up to New Hampshire or D.C.-” C.J. shook her head.

“That’s not what I meant. I was just thinking.”

“Oh.” 

“They’d tell us if anything new or big happened, but… I don’t know, I can’t help but wonder. We’re so much further along in our lives than most of them, by a normal standard, not that you can really have normal standards after the White House. But, I mean, marriage, kids, stable jobs, a normal life… I wonder if anyone else has even considered this as an option.”

“They’ll consider it eventually. Hell, did you think we’d ever really end up here?” He stopped and knelt next to the stroller, looking in at the little girl dressed all in green (C.J. refused to dress her in gender-stereotyped clothing until she was old enough to make that decision for herself). “If we hadn’t stopped to consider that, we wouldn’t have A.J.,” he said, and squeezed one of her tiny hands.

“And I wouldn’t give her- or you- up for anything. It’s just an odd feeling, you know,” C.J. continued as they resumed their walk. “I think this is what it’s like for normal people when they’re single and their friends all start settling down, except in reverse.”

“When have your friends ever been normal people?” Danny snorted and C.J. punched his arm gently.

“Point taken. I don’t know, maybe we should try to see them again sometime soon. I can probably take next weekend off if you want to go to D.C. or New Hampshire or- Sacramento?”

“Sacramento sounds nice.”

“No, it’s my phone.” C.J. looked down at the unfamiliar number on her cell screen. “Someone’s calling me from Sacramento.” She held up a finger, a  _ just-one-second  _ gesture, and backed away, wandering towards the observatory as Danny took a seat on a bench.

“Hello?”

“C.J.? It’s Sam.”

“Sam?” C.J. stopped mid-step. “I was just thinking about you. All of you actually. What’s up?” There was a momentary pause.

“Listen, C.J., can you come up to Sacramento for a day? I have something I want to talk to you about.”

“Sam, I’m a little tied up at the moment, can we do it over the phone?”

“Sorry, C.J., I know you’re a busy woman, but it would mean a lot to me, and this isn’t a conversation you want to have over the phone.” C.J. glanced briefly back to her husband and child, and shook her head.

“Sure, Sam. If I fly up tomorrow morning, does that work?”

“It works great. Thank you.”   
“Alright, Sam.” C.J. moved to hang up.

“Wait!”

“What?”

“Just, uh… don’t tell Josh I called. Or anyone, actually. Not until we talk.”

“Sam, you’re acting weird.”

“I know. Just let me explain myself. Tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

“By, C.J..” The line clicked, and he was gone.

“What was that about?” Danny asked as she returned.

“It was Sam, of all people. I need to fly up to Sacramento tomorrow. Will you and-”

“A.J. and I will be fine, C.J.. What does he need to talk to you about.” Still puzzled, C.J. shrugged.

“That’s the thing. I don’t have a clue.” At that moment, A.J. woke up from her nap and began to wail, the sound echoing through the half-empty park. “We should get her home.”

“Sure.” Danny opened his mouth as if to say something else, but thought better of it. C.J. reached into her bag to find A.J.’s pacifier, and they walked back to the car, hand-in-hand.

C.J.’s flight was booked for 8 the next morning, which, after 8 years of going into the office at 6:30, didn’t feel so bad. Danny didn’t have class, so he was still asleep when she left. Quietly, resignedly, she kissed his forehead and smoothed the quilt (a wedding gift from the Bartlets) on her side of the bed before she made her way to A.J.’s nursery, decorated with the gifts and trinkets C.J. had picked up in her globetrotting years. The baby was peacefully sleeping once again in her crib, and C.J. only looked at her from afar, so as not to wake her. 

“I love you, sweet girl,” she murmured, and blew a kiss. A.J. shuffled restlessly, but didn’t wake. As quietly as she could, C.J. slipped out, hoping A.J. might sleep just long enough to not wake Danny. The floorboards creaked as C.J. slipped out into the sunny early morning, glancing back only once towards the quiet, darkened house as she made her way to the train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you enjoyed it, please leave a comment, I promise you it makes my day as a writer. thank you so much for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Sam, scatterbrained as he was, usually didn’t forget major things, like meetings with foreign leaders or his friends’ visits. Then again, he had only been the governor for three years, and it was one hell of a shift going from a deputy staffer to the guy who hired deputy staffers. 

Point being, he forgot about C.J. until the doorbell rang at 9 in the morning and he tumbled out of bed, having overslept on his one weekend off. Getting his footing swiftly, he trotted to the open window that overlooked the front door and poked his head out.

“CJ!” he called down, and she looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun.

“Governor Seaborn!” A smile broke across Sam’s face, and he realized just how much he’d missed her.

“I’ll be right down!” He shut the window and threw on a pair of jeans, exchanging his t-shirt for a Princeton sweater. He combed his hair with his hands as he descended the stairs and opened the door. “Hey,” he said, and was immediately met with one of the bear hugs he had learned to expect from CJ.

“Hi!” They lingered in the doorway a moment before Sam got it in his head to step aside and let her in. 

“Why don’t you come with me to the kitchen and I’ll make some breakfast, and we can go eat out on the patio while we talk.”

“What exactly are we talking about that required me to take a 90-minute flight at 8 in the morning?” CJ asked as she followed Sam through the cold, neat halls to the kitchen.

“Just… give me a minute to get my head in order.” She relented, for which he was grateful. “Say, do you have any pictures of A.J. on you? I’d like one for my study.” Smiling, CJ produced a photo of a little red-haired girl, sitting on the beach, marveling at a beach ball in the sand beside her. “That’s great, CJ. She’s adorable.”

“Spitting image of Danny,” she replied, and leaned against the counter. Sam rifled through the cabinets for a couple of glasses, his head still a mad scramble, just as it had been since he left the White House after a couple of months and decided to run for governor. He never really thought he’d win, just that he couldn’t take another minute of watching Matt Santos spout meaningless garbage, completely unattached from any real policy movement. CJ had already gone by then, and Toby was… well, not there anymore, and Josh was so thoroughly attached to Santos there wasn’t a chance of any split there, not then, so Sam just went. He handed Josh his resignation, bore it calmly as Josh yelled for nearly an hour about loyalty and duty, and then left. And that was that. Josh had called a week later to apologize. He said if he was ever in California, they’d get coffee. He hadn’t been to California yet.

“Here.” Sam poured cold brew into one cup and handed it to CJ, and then poured one for himself. He snagged a box of premade croissants from the grocery store off the counter and led her through the house once more out to the back patio. They sat under an umbrella, drinking cold brew and eating croissants for a few minutes before CJ piped up.

“Sam-”

“Yeah.” He dusted off his hands and dragged them through his hair. He knew what he had to tell her, but _how_ was the question. “You know why I left the White House, right?”

“Sort of. Josh told me you didn’t get along with Santos.” Sam grinned, but it was more like a grimace.

“That’s… part of it. I guess. Look, I know you were busy during the campaign, but you saw him speak a few times, right?”

“Sure.”

“When you did, did you ever really listen to what he was saying? Because I did. I might not have written those speeches, but I listened to them. And they were just… nothing. There was nothing behind them. It’s all a facade, CJ. He’s got all this surface-level charisma and power, and there’s nothing to back it up. His whole campaign was based around this comprehensive education plan, right?”

“Right.”

“And you know I think education… it’s everything. It’s the-”

“Silver bullet. I know.”

“And when he got into office, there was all the Kazakhstan stuff immediately, and he just… he gave up on education. Immediately. Not as in ‘let’s put it on a back burner until we can get to it’. Not as in ‘let’s delegate it out so that some people are still working on it’. Not as in ‘let’s get something to congress so we can at least start.’ There was nothing. We hit office, and education went out the window. So did taxes, ethanol… everything major he talked about on the campaign was sacrificed so he could try to fix Kazakhstan. And it’s not that I didn’t know Kazakhstan would be a big deal that took up most of our resources. I just… I didn’t think we’d have to give up everything else to do it.” CJ nodded, considering.

“So that’s why you left.”

“Pretty much. I just couldn’t work for someone who didn’t stand for anything.”

“Alright. Then why am I here.”

“Well… Santos is running for re-election.”

“Yes.” The clueless look on CJ’s face made Sam’s stomach drop. More than anything, he just wanted her to know, intuitively, so he wouldn’t have to explain it to her.

“And usually, the incumbent president runs unopposed in his own party. Primary challenges… well, they don’t happen.”

“Sam, where are you going with this?”

“Well, I don’t think he should run unopposed.”

“You have another candidate in mind?”

“I do.” Sam straightened in his seat.

“Who?”

“Me.” CJ’s glass slipped out of her hand and shattered on the paved ground. Coffee splashed everywhere, staining the cuffs of her pants, but she didn’t notice. Her mouth hung open like a broken theme park animatronic.

“You.”

“Me.”

“For-”

“President, yes.” Her eyes flitted from him to the house back to him, then out to the sky, and back to him.

“Do it,” she said, and Sam nearly toppled backwards out of his chair.

“You mean…?”

“I think you should do it, Sam. You’ve got a term as governor, plus two terms in Congress, and four years as deputy communications director under your belt. I don’t know anyone more passionate about the issues, and you’re one hell of a speaker. If you’re really serious about it, I say go for it. With one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You have to get Josh to run your campaign.” Sam let out a sharp laugh, more surprised than amused.

“You mean the chief of staff for my potential opponent? The sitting president?” He rolled his eyes. “That’s hysterical, CJ, I needed that.”

“I’m serious. Josh is… you know how President Bartlet always said Leo was ‘his guy’? Well, Josh is your guy. You can do this, but not without him.”

“But I-“

“No buts. It’s Josh or you lose.” Sam snorted.

“What makes you think I won’t lose anyway?”

“Nothing. It’s going to be close, however it goes. But without Josh I am certain you will lose.” Sam considered, tapping his fingers on the table.

“So if… if I can get Josh on board, somehow, will you come back?” Now it was CJ’s turn to hesitate.

“I don’t know, Sam. I think I’m done with the White House. But you’re not. You will be president one day, whether it’s this year or in twenty years. And you’ll do it with Josh at your side and me having your back.” Sam was overwhelmed, to his own surprise. CJ reached over and squeezed his hand.

“I actually scheduled a couple of meetings while I’m in town, so I ought to go, but thank you for calling, Sam. Tell me what Josh says, would you?” He nodded, and she left, slipping out the gate. Sam thought back. He’d known Josh was “his guy” since their first days as congressional aides, trading jokes and notes in the back offices of the U.S. Capitol. If Josh hadn’t been “his guy”, he never would have gone to New Hampshire, never would have ended up in the White House, never would have run for Congress, never would have wound up here. He saw Josh with Santos on TV long before he joined them, and he could see it. Santos was who Josh went with because he was the only option. And maybe, maybe if Sam had stuck around, he wouldn’t be here, about to challenge a sitting president all by himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Josh was being yelled at by the president. Again. It was not an uncommon occurrence after 3 years, and Josh had learned that he could just sort of… tune out until the yelling ended. Today, the yelling was regarding a particular environmental bill the president liked, but Congress hadn’t liked quite so much. And Josh was taking the blame. He wasn’t quite sure what blame was being assigned to him, because he wasn’t paying much attention, until his phone began to ring the the world came back into focus.

“...your job to make sure that Congress passes the bills I want passed! You have to do your job, Josh-“ Santos’s voice, combined with his phone ringing in his breast pocket, dominated Josh’s senses. He blinked rapidly, trying to get a handle on the situation.

“Uh, sir, one second-“ he pulled out the phone and saw it was Sam. “Mr. President, I really need to take this.” Santos stopped mid-sentence.

“Yeah, fine. I’ll be in the sit room when you’re done.” Josh answered the phone halfway through the 7th ring.

“Sam?” He slipped outside, lowering his voice.

“Hey, Josh.” Something in Sam’s voice was nervous. They’d known each other long enough, Josh could tell.

“What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you about something. And I need you not to interrupt me until I’m done. Can you-“

“I can do that.”

“Really? Because you interrupted me just now.”

“I can do it. But, look, can you make it quick? I have to get to the sit room.”

“Sure. I, uh… you know I have my concerns about Santos. That’s not why I’m calling- well, it is, but not really- okay. I don’t think he should run again. And I suppose I don’t know, but I think he will. But he shouldn’t be president again, and I know maybe you don’t agree with me, but I need to tell you that I want someone to challenge him in the primaries. Well, I want to challenge him in the primaries. Myself. And I want you to help me do it.” The phone nearly slipped from Josh’s hand, but he maintained his grip.

“Sam, I… Jesus. What do I say to that?”

“Well, ideally, ‘yes.’”

“Sam, I can’t just leave. I got us here, I need to ride it out.”

“If that’s your only reason for doing it, that’s not good enough. You know he’s not the best thing for the country. The question is just if you’re more loyal to him than you are to the American people.”

“Don’t twist my words, Sam, and that’s not the only reason, you know that’s not the only reason. I picked Santos because I knew he could do it better than anyone else. I picked him. And I still believe in him.”

“Do you? Because it’s been 3 years and he still hasn’t done anything of worth, Josh, except get us out of that mess in Kazakhstan.”

“Which isn’t insignificant, Sam! And if we get another term, we won’t have to deal with Kazakhstan and we really can do everything we planned.”

“There will always be a Kazakhstan, Josh, or an MS scandal or something, anything. There are always going to be things you can’t work around and you have to work around them anyway. Santos won’t do that, but you know me. You know I will.”

“No, I don’t. Look, Sam, if it were anyone else. Russell. Hoynes. I really do mean anyone, I would be there in a second, but… it’s Santos. He’s my pick and I’m sticking with him.”

“Well… alright, Josh. Say hi to Donna, would you?” Josh smiled, forgetting for a moment that Sam couldn’t see him.

“I will. And hey, next time you’re here-“

“Yeah.” Sam hung up. Josh let his hand fall to his side, the phone dangling loosely in his fingers. Truly, if it weren’t Santos, if the president were anyone else, he’d have jumped ship and gone to Sam already. But then, it was Santos. And he was waiting for Josh in the situation room. Josh let himself back into the office and half-walked-half jogged through the halls, not eager to be yelled at again. He was so distracted by everything with Sam and Santos that he didn’t see Donna until he ran into her.

“Whoa!” She stumbled backwards, knocking his head back straight, so to speak. 

“Ah, crap, sorry.” He reached out and steadied her.

“What’s going on? You look, I don’t know, frazzled.” Josh shook his head and ran a hand through his hair.

“I just got off the phone with Sam- he says hi, by the way.”

“Oh! Hi, Sam,” Donna said, and giggled.

“Yeah, and he… Christ, you’re gonna think this is ridiculous.”

“Well, if Sam said it, probably.”

“He said Santos shouldn’t run again.” Donna’s eyebrows raised.

“Really? He said that?”

“Well, you know Sam and the president don’t get along.”

“No, I do, just…” They set off walking again. “I’m surprised that Sam would say that so openly.”

“Yeah, and that’s not all.” Josh stopped again, looking around to see if anyone was near them. He stepped aside to let an intern pass, and then lowered his voice. “He has another suggestion for who should run. Against Santos.”

“A primary challenger?” Donna nearly shouted, and Josh shushed her. “Who?” she whispered.

“Sam.” Her eyes widened so much Josh thought they might pop out of her head.

“No way-“

“Yes. Now, look. He asked me to jump ship and run his campaign-“

“You said no, right?” Josh chuckled.

“Of course I said no.”

“Good.” Donna reached down and took his hand. 

“Look, Donna, don’t- don’t tell anyone, alright? Not yet.”

“Of course.” Donna shook her head, smiling. “Man, California’s really got his head all kinds of twisted.”

“Yeah,” Josh scoffed. “Alright. I have to run. I’ll see you tonight?” Donna squeezed his hand once and dropped it.

“Of course. You should go.”

“Yeah.” Josh took a step, hesitated, then kept walking. He stopped outside the communications bullpen and glanced once into the office that used to be Sam’s. Sam would be president one day. That was a simple statement of fact. But he couldn’t beat Santos, not this year, and Josh wouldn’t help him. Josh couldn’t help him. There would come a day when they occupied those adjoining offices in the west wing, but it wasn’t today. And besides. Josh had a sit room briefing to get to.


	4. Chapter 4

The house smelled like Danny’s shepherd’s pie (he was the cook in the family, and really went-all in on the Irish thing) when C.J. arrived. She shut the front door quietly, grinning to herself as she slipped around the creaky spots in the floor to stand in the entryway to the kitchen. A.J. sat in her high chair, babbling to herself as Danny pulled the casserole dish out of the oven. C.J. waited for the dish to be firmly on the counter before she spoke.

“What, no welcome home?” Danny jumped.

“Jesus, Claudia.”

“Sorry.” She gave him a hug and a kiss and then crouched down to look at A.J. “Did you even notice I was gone?” A.J. sputtered incoherently. “Yeah, that’s what I figured.”

“How’s Sam?” Danny asked, poking gingerly at his pie with a spatula.

“Um… interesting.”

“How so?”

“I’ll tell you after we get A.J. to bed.” Danny snickered.

“What, you think she’s going to blab?”

“Not that. It’s just, well, it’s a lot. And I need a minute to organize my thoughts.”

“Sure.” Danny served her a plate and they sat at the tiny kitchen table, just big enough for two chairs plus A.J.’s baby chair. “How were your meetings today?” So she told him about the meetings she had taken, potential investors for the foundation, and they didn’t speak of Sam or Josh or the president until both had kissed A.J. goodnight and were getting ready for bed themselves.

“So. Sam.” C.J. leaned against the dresser and let her eyes fall to the array of photos on top of it. There were pictures of them, of their wedding, of A.J.‘s christening, of the trip they had taken to Mali with the foundation last year, and pictures of their friends, Donna and Josh at a state dinner, Toby and the twins at a Yankees game, the Bartlets at Zoey and Charlie’s wedding, and Sam at his own inauguration. 

“Sam,” she repeated.

“What’s going on, C.J.?”

“You know Sam and the president don’t get along.”

“I think I heard something about that, yeah.”

“And Sam doesn’t think he should run again.”

“Makes sense. Santos isn’t my favorite person either, you know.”

“So, anyway, the point being that Sam… he wants to run.”

“You mean-“

“Against Santos.”

“Holy shit.”

“You can say that again.”

“Holy shit.”

“Okay, I didn’t actually mean that.”

“Holy shit.”

“You can stop now, D.” But he wasn’t repeating himself to be funny. His eyes were wide, incredulous, and he paced the room, combing his hands through his hair.

“And he wants you to run the campaign?” C.J. shrugged.

“He wants me to help. But I told him if he wants to run, it needs to be Josh.”

“Good. I mean, I think that’s right. And if he can get Josh to help? Will you go with them?” C.J. groaned and fell backwards onto the bed.

“I don’t know. I mean, I feel like I should. And part of me misses it. But then part of me thinks about you and A.J. and the foundation and… I don’t think I need it.”

“But do you want it?” Danny lay down next to her.

“I still… I just don’t know. First, we have to see what Josh says. That’s the key.”

“Okay. So we’ll wait.”

“We’ll wait.” C.J. crawled under the covers and turned out the lamp.

Sam’s call woke her twenty minutes before her alarm, and she slipped out into the living room to take it, shivering in the cool morning.

“Sam? It’s 6:10, what’s-“

“He said no, C.J.”

“Josh?”

“He said no.” C.J. lowered herself into an armchair.

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

“I still think I should do it. I think I can do it without him.”

“Look, Sam-“

“C.J., please. Come run the campaign. For me.”

“I can’t do that, Sam,” she said, and she really didn’t think she could. Working a campaign was enough work, but running one? That was an impossibility. “If you find someone else, someone you really trust to do it, let me know, and we can talk. I think you’d be phenomenal. You know that. But I can’t get you there.”

“Yeah. Alright, C.J..”

“Alright?”

“Go back to bed. I’ll see you later.”

“Have a good day, Sam.”

“Sure.” C.J. snuck back into her room and got back into bed as gingerly as she could, but Danny was a light sleeper, much to her chagrin.

“Sam?” he asked, yawning as he rolled over to face her.

“Yeah.”

“He called Josh?”

“Mhmm.”

“So?”

“Josh said no.”

“Oh. Well, then… what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that I can’t run a campaign and be a mom. I told him to find a campaign manager and then come talk to me, but… I don’t think I should. Or that I even could. My life, it’s too different from how it used to be.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I know how hard it was for you to leave.”

“It was hard, but I think it’d be even harder to leave you and A.J. to go back to doing something I’m not even sure I’d still like doing. I can’t go back. It’s not worth it.” As she turned her back to Danny, settling under the weight of his arm over her waist, C.J. told herself it was the truth. That even for Sam, even with him and Josh and Donna and Will all back together, it wasn’t worth it. Behind her, Danny shifted restlessly. C.J. had known him for a long time, longer than they’d been together, and she knew him well enough to know he was still thinking about it just as much as she was. Which meant he knew as well as she did that this wasn’t something that could be assigned a finite value. This was the country that lay in her hands, in Sam’s, in Josh’s, in Santos’. This was beyond measure, beyond price. But then, so was the baby down the hall, and her father sleeping behind C.J. The scales could not be weighed one way or the other because there was no way to measure something like this. It was instinct. C.J. was just going to have to listen to her gut. The only question was, what was her gut saying? 


	5. Chapter 5

Sam didn’t sleep all that night after he called Josh. How could he? His plan, which had seemed so well-plotted, was falling apart before his very eyes, dominos toppling one after the other. He called C.J. at about 5:30, after spending the night pacing the house, thinking about all that had gone wrong. He should have called Josh earlier, not just days but years. Before Josh had ever convinced Santos to run. He should have been there with Josh when he was looking for a successor, because if he had, they wouldn’t be here now. 

Successors were an interesting idea in democracy. There were never true lines of succession, beyond backup plans in the event of disaster. It wasn’t a monarchy, that was the whole point. The people got to choose who followed the last leader, or at least they thought they did. Sam had been a successor, once upon a time, taking the place of a man who died simply because it needed to be done, and the people voted for him even though they knew he wasn’t Horton Wilde. Sam also knew, though, that that choice was the result of years of work, of conditioning, on the part of people like himself, to shape the people and the candidates to fit together like a puzzle. He had always been fond of puzzles, which was probably why he was so good with elections. He understood that it was all a game of balance, balancing how much you shaped a candidate’s message to fit the people and how much you influenced the people to fit the candidate’s message. He wasn’t often a vain man, but Sam knew there were few people on earth who could do that as well as he could. One of them was Josh, who was on the other side of the country, a loose cannon and a lost cause. The other was 8 hours away by car, only an hour and a half by plane. That gave Sam his first good idea all day. He found his phone under a pile of shirts on the chair in his bedroom (he didn’t have much time to clean up, and he didn’t particularly like hiring anyone to do it for him, so he tended to let the mess pile up until it overwhelmed him so much he had no choice but to spend a day cleaning) and dialed his own office.

“Governor Seaborn’s office, how may I help you?” answered a pleasantly familiar voice.

“Ginger,” Sam said, and tucked the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he shoved the shirts aside so he could sit. “Is there anything on my schedule today and tomorrow that can’t be canceled or rescheduled.”

“Let me ask Bonnie,” Ginger replied, and Sam heard the cheerful hold music he had helped choose come over the line. Ginger and Bonnie had come out to California only a couple of weeks after Sam, when he realized he couldn’t work without them. Ginger and Bonnie, always the package deal, came out eagerly, having lost both Sam and Toby after 9 years together, and they lived together in a cottage on the outskirts of Sacramento, engaged and awaiting the legalization of same-sex marriage that couldn’t be far in the future. “You’ve got a meeting with the budget director tomorrow morning at 9, but if you’re willing to do it as a lunch meeting on Wednesday-”

“That works,” Sam said absentmindedly. “Listen, I’m going to fly up to Oregon for the weekend. I should be back by dinnertime tomorrow. Could you book me a ticket on the next flight up and a flight back tomorrow around 4?” Sam had sold off the private plane that the last governor had purchased almost immediately after his inauguration, which scored him points with both the environmental lobby and those frugal taxpayers who disliked their money going towards trips taken by their executive branch (Sam often thought of Donna when these taxpayers voiced their concerns). Mostly, though, it was because he so disliked the isolation and superiority of a private jet. Sam had spent so long condemning the wealthy for their use that he couldn’t bring himself to do the same even when he hadn’t made the purchase. His campaign had been run on the idea of a governor of and for the people, someone who had grown up just south of the capitol and wouldn’t ever try to be anything more than a person, albeit a person with a J.D. from Duke. 

To that end, Sam always flew commercial (first-class, but still. Commercial.)

“I got you a seat on the 11 o’clock to Eugene. Do you need a rental car?”

“Yes, please.” Sam checked his watch. “Alright, I have to get going if my flight’s at 11. Ginger, get me a car and I’ll see you when I get back tomorrow. Stay out of trouble.”

“Always do, boss.” Sam tossed some clothes into a backpack and was out the door in twenty minutes. 

Three hours later, he was in Oregon, cruising through Eugene with a paper map spread across the passenger seat.

“Oh, come on, where are you?” he muttered to himself, scanning the roads for a sign of what he was looking for. He reached the last block of the main drag, sighing at the unfamiliar area, and was about to give up and just walk the sidewalks until he found it, until, as if by some magic, at the end of the street, there it was. Sam parallel parked against the curb, attempted to fold the map, and gave up, crumpling the map and abandoning it on the seat. Inside, a young woman at the front desk manned several phones at once.

“Representative Bailey’s office, please hold. Representative Bailey’s office, please hold. Representative Bailey’s office, please hold.” She repeated this over and over again as she pressed the hold button on each of the phones. After awhile, she looked up at Sam expectantly. “How can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Will- I’m here to see the congressman.”

“Do you have an appointment?” she asked, a jarringly cheerful smile plastered on her face.

“No.”

“Then I’m afraid-“

“I’m sorry,” Sam sighed. He hated doing this, but it wasn’t the first time he’d had to do it and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Still, he didn’t like to feel self-important. “I’m Sam Seaborn. I’m the governor of California. Will Bailey is an old friend of mine and I’m sure if you just tell him that I’m here and I asked to see him-“

“Sam!” The voice came from behind him, and the face appeared in Sam’s behind before he ever saw it. Already grinning, he spun on his heel.

“Will.” From across the room, Will smiled.

“What are you doing here?” Sam shrugged.

“Just came up for a visit. You free for lunch?”

“Sara? Am I?” Will directed his question at the woman Sam had argued with earlier. Sara flipped through a planner.

“You have a meeting at four, but you don’t have anything on the books until then.”

“Good. Then I’ll take you to lunch.” Will squeezed Sam’s arm gently. “I just have to get my coat, but… it’s good to see you. Really.” He left Sam standing in the middle of the room and reappeared shortly, carrying his coat over his arm. “How does Thai food sound?” he asked as he and Sam left the building. 

“Great.” Sam tried not to sound as distracted as he was. 

“So,” Will said, smiling fondly as he led Sam up the street. “You really came all the way up here just to see me?” Sam shrugged. He did a lot of shrugging these days. 

“I needed to get out of California for a couple days.”

“Got a lot on your mind?”

“You could say that.” Will stopped, examining Sam’s face for any clue what he meant. Sam hoped he was a better actor than he thought he was. The concern didn’t fade from Will’s face.

“When do you have to go back?” Sam shook his head.

“My flight’s tomorrow.”

“Let’s drive out to Florence. There’s a nice little beach I went to a lot when I first moved here.” Without waiting for a response, Will took off in the other direction.

“Wait! Will! What about lunch?”

“We’ll drive through a McDonald’s on the way,” Will called back over his shoulder, and Sam bounded after him, laughing. He’d forgotten what it was to laugh like that, without thinking. Lunch, and a trip to the beach. For a few minutes, Josh and C.J. and Santos faded into the back of his mind.

It was a quiet, peaceful drive out to Florence, and neither of them spoke much. Will pulled the car into a parking lot just off the beach and beckoned for Sam to follow him. He kicked off his shoes and socks and left them on the grass, and then fell into the sun-bleached sand. Sam sat beside him, feeling better and better as the wind ruffled his hair, which he’d let grow out from the crew cut he’d worn in the White House.

“So,” Will started, and leaned back, squinting up at the sky. “What’s the deal?”

“What deal?”

“Whatever it is that made you come all the way up to Oregon.”

“I told you, I’ve just got a lot on my mind.” Will laughed, the sound echoing around the empty beach, off the rocky cliffs that surrounded it, and was swept off to sea with the pull of the tide.

“That’s what I mean. What on earth is weighing on you so heavily you couldn’t just call?” Sam shook his head.

“You’ll think I’m crazy.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Shut up.”

“Alright.”

“Even crazier than you running a campaign for a dead guy.”

“Hey, I won that one.”

“Hit me up when you’ve run a presidential campaign and won.”

“Hit me up when you’ve worked for a president for their entire term.” Sam’s face fell. “Why did you leave Santos, anyway?”

“You remember what you said to me the first time we met, right? That the campaign in the California 47th was a campaign of ideas, it wasn’t about the person. I thought Santos was a campaign of ideas. And then I worked for him, and I realized that his ideas weren’t enough. Not even with Josh propping him up. I realized that on a scale of that size, ideas only matter so long as you can execute them, and Santos cared more about dreaming big than doing big. I realized I could do more good in California than I could with him.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“Yeah, except that now, Santos is going to run for re-election as the sitting president, the de facto leader of the party, which means we either wind up with another four years of his pointless idealism or four years of a conservative republican who’ll destroy everything we’ve accomplished in the last 12 years.”

“So you need a primary challenger.” Sam’s head snapped up. Was Will reading his mind, somehow? No, they just thought the same way. It was a puzzle to be solved, and Will knew that just as well as Sam did. “Someone who’s not afraid of Santos, or the DNC. Someone who’s going to put up a fight not just because they want to win, or because they don’t like Santos, but out of loyalty to their country and the urge to do what’s right.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.” 

“So? Who did you have in mind? There’s a few senators I think could be a good fit, or the Maine attorney general-“

“Actually, I have a candidate lined up. That’s really… that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. To see if you thought it was a good idea.” This was it, this was the hardest part. Because if he said no, that was strike 3, Sam was out. If he said yes, though, Sam was facing the battle of a lifetime, and though it was one he wanted to fight, changing his life just like that was daunting. 

“Hit me.” Will smiled good-naturedly, not seeming to have any idea what was coming.

“Me.”

“What do you mean, ‘me’?”

“I mean, I’m the candidate. I’m going to challenge Matt Santos in the primaries.” Will didn’t look as surprised as Sam thought he might. Beyond a twitch in his lip and a slight raise of his eyebrows, it didn’t even appear to register.

“Oh, wow.”

“So? Do you think it’s a good idea or a bad idea?” Will looked out at the crashing waves, pensive. Involuntarily, Sam shivered. He’d forgotten how much colder Oregon was than California. Will noticed this and slipped off his jacket, holding it out to Sam.

“Come on, take it. You’re freezing.”

“Will, no. I’m fine.”

“Take the damn jacket.”

“Really, I’m-“ Will, frustrated by his protests, draped the jacket haphazardly over Sam’s shoulders. Although he wouldn’t have admitted it, Sam was grateful, and he wrapped the coat a little tighter around him. “You didn’t answer me.”

“I know. Did you talk to anyone else before you came here? I mean, about this?”

“I told C.J. a few days ago, and I told Josh yesterday.”

“And what did they say?” Sam chuckled bitterly.

“Really, what was Josh supposed to say? He works for Santos. He’s planning Santos’ re-election campaign.”

“And C.J.?”

“She said she thought I could do it. But…”

“But?”

“But only if I could get Josh on board. Which, obviously, I couldn’t.” Will repositioned himself so that he faced Sam.

“Do it,” he said. “You’re right about Santos. He’s not worth another 4 years of this country’s time. You are, and you can prove it, with or without Josh.” Sam didn’t think he’d ever wanted to hug someone as badly as he did at that moment, so he did. Will tensed at the contact, but leaned into Sam. He smelled faintly of ink.

“So, what’s your plan for this election cycle?” Sam asked as they separated, wishing his heart would beat a little slower. Will just shrugged.

“I don’t know. Haven’t decided yet.”

“Really?”

“I don’t know, Sam. I never meant to be an elected official. That was never my plan. I did it because I didn’t like the guy who was doing the job and I thought I could do it better, and I thought that I owed it to the people of Oregon to try. And they liked me enough to elect me, but I don’t know that I like doing this enough to do it again.”

“Well,” Sam began, and then paused. “If you don’t run, and you’re still interested in writing, I’ll need a speechwriter.”

“Let me put it this way.” Will got to his feet and held out a hand to help Sam up. “If you run, I won’t.”

“Really? It’s that simple for you?” Sam asked as they began to walk back to the car.

“It’s a manner of gravity, Sam. A congressional race versus the presidency. I ran out on your campaign once before, and I don’t plan on doing it again. You want to run, you call me, and I’ll be there in a heartbeat. Josh Lyman or no Josh Lyman, you should do it.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re the best person for the job. Simple as that.” 

Back in Eugene, Will parked just down the street from Sam’s own rental car. He checked his watch and grimaced.

“I have a meeting in a half an hour, I need to-“

“Go,” Sam said, and as Will started to walk away, he suddenly remembered the jacket that still hung over his shoulders. “Wait! Will!” He slipped it off and started towards Will, who just held up a hand to stop him.

“Keep it.”

“But it’s your coat! And it’s cold!”

“Six years ago, you gave me your tie in the middle of the most important campaign of my life. Call this returning the favor.” With that, he left Sam in the middle of the sidewalk, still holding the jacket, thinking about that tie. He had won six years ago, not because of a tie or anything else except that he was the right candidate. Sam felt the scales tip. The puzzle had started. The battle had begun.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw// brief gun mention

Josh hadn’t known what to do with himself since Sam called. 3 nights of restless sleep, when he got sleep at all, and 3 days spent distracted, unable to focus. There was a magnet in his gut, pulling him to California, just like it had pulled him to New York, once upon a time. There was also a sort of guilt, knowing he had once dragged Sam out of a happy, if unfulfilling life, and whisked him off to New Hampshire for 8 years of sleepless nights, of missing his family, of eating, sleeping, and breathing politics; and now he couldn’t give Sam that same courtesy. But then, there was loyalty. Santos was his pick, and he was responsible. This was the choice he had made, and he was standing by it. In the same way Leo had found his guy, so had Josh. At least he hoped he had.

“Josh, the president needs you.” Ronna poked her head into Josh’s office. 

“The-“

“The gun bill, yeah.” Even Ronna looked scared. Matt Santos was typically a calm man, but when he was overwhelmed, that calmness tended to take a backseat to his frustration. The gun bill in question was a ban on a number of assault weapons, and while unpopular with most senate republicans, there was enough bipartisan support it would pass, or so Josh hoped. But there was that sect of republicans who retained power and who didn’t appreciate their guns (their assault weapons) being banned. They threatened everything from healthcare to education, and although Josh knew enough to know you could only bend so much to their will, Santos was willing to bend.

Josh knocked gently on the door conjoining his office to the Oval, silently hoping it would be too quiet and he could have another minute to prepare himself. But no, that was not in the cards for today.

“Come in!” Josh adjusted his tie and entered.

“Sir?”

“Josh.” Santos beckoned him over to where he sat on one of the sofas. “I think… no, I’ve decided. I’m vetoing the gun bill.” Josh took a step back.

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“I just- I can’t in good conscience sign a bill that could potentially put healthcare at risk! Or- or- or schools! They could kill everything we try to do for the next six years-“ Josh winced. Santos hadn’t even appeared to consider that he might not win his re-election campaign. “-and we just can’t risk it.”

“Sir, they could do that anyway. They could do that the next time we try to push any kind of bill. We can’t let them push us around anymore-“

“That’s not what I’m doing, Josh. I’m being careful. We have a legacy to build and we can’t do that if we can’t get anything done.”

“I understand that, sir, but-“

“Josh! I told you what I’m doing.”

“Due respect, sir, but I can’t abide that. Yes, we may very well be putting healthcare and education at risk by signing this bill, but by not signing it, we put those very same children we’re fighting for with education at risk by leaving their schools open to attack by people who have military-grade weapons! I know we can’t solve all the issues, but we need to solve this one, we have the ability to, and I can’t believe you’re just going to… not!”

“Josh! None of that- healthcare, education, gun control- none of that matters unless we stay here, in office, for 4 more years. And we can’t do that by alienating the Republican Party!” Josh fell backwards into a chair, as if punched in the face.

“I’m sorry, sir. You mean… you mean we can’t push for gun control because it means you might not be re-elected?”

“If I don’t get re-elected, we won’t be able to do any of the other things we talked about doing, Josh. This isn’t an ego thing. It’s about doing what needs to be done. For the sake of the nation.” Josh’s memory flashed back to Sam, telling him that Santos wasn’t the best thing.

“I can’t say that I agree, sir.”

“You don’t need to. That’s why you put me in charge.” Wordlessly, Josh nodded, and left. Back in his own office, he stared down at his phone, waiting for it to ring. It wouldn’t, though, it wouldn’t ring all on its own. This was a call he had to make himself, if he wanted to make it at all, and he wasn’t sure he did. Impulsivity was something Josh was known for, but his impulses also often led him down the difficult road to forgiveness. There were a great many things that Josh had been forgiven for, perceived slights and insults. Never a betrayal quite so massive as this. To that end, it also felt wrong to make the call from this office, this building. Josh felt like an imposter every day as he entered this office, thinking he’d see Leo or maybe even C.J., only to remember that it was his. If he made this call, he truly would be an imposter, and that betrayal would go beyond Santos and beyond Josh himself, it would go back to every occupant of that office before him, every loyal soldier who refused to jump ship.

As Josh put on his coat and walked outside, out past the gate, to where the White House ended and the world began, he considered the flip side. Sam, whose loyalty defined him, who had followed Josh to New Hampshire just based on his word that Bartlet was the real thing, had left. At first, Josh hadn’t understood. He couldn’t see a reason why Sam would have left after less than a month. Now, he thought he understood it, and maybe he had understood it for awhile now without acknowledging it. The only reason Sam would have left was if he felt betrayed himself, which in a way, he had. Santos had betrayed all of them. Still, Josh couldn’t seem to see the scales. One betrayal versus another. There was only one person Josh could think of who might be able to see it clearly. The first person Josh had betrayed. Glancing once back over his shoulder at the White House, Josh hailed a cab.

“Come on, come on, come on,” he chanted under his breath, watching his breath freeze in the air in front of the door. He pushed the buzzer again.

“Give me a damn minute!” he heard from somewhere inside, and after a few minutes, the door opened. “What do you want?” Toby asked, looking Josh up and down.

“Can I come in?” Toby sighed and rolled his eyes, but stepped aside. 

“Make yourself at home.” Josh flopped down into an overstuffed armchair.

“Sorry I didn’t call first. I just needed-“

“It’s fine.” Toby sat down across from him. “What’s the deal?”

“Has Sam called you?”

“No, why would he?”

“Shit.” Josh didn’t want to tell Toby if Sam hadn’t told him himself, but he needed the advice and there were a limited number of people he trusted enough to ask.

“Josh. What the hell is going on?”

“Sam wants to run for president. Against Santos.”

“Has Sam become a republican at some point in the last several years?”

“No.”

“Is he running independently? Or under a third party?”

“Nope.”

“Then how exactly-“ Toby blanched. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, god.”

“Yep.”

“And what do you think? Should he?”

“That’s why I’m here. I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? Do you think Sam would be a better president than Santos or not?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple. Who’s better for the country?”

“Sam.” It slipped out without a second thought, but Josh realized as he said it that he was right. “But I can’t just drop everything I’m doing here to go help him.”

“Why not? That’s exactly what you did with Bartlet.” Josh winced at the bitterness in Toby’s voice.

“Because Bartlet was running out his second term. All I could have done there was help him wrap it up. Santos is only on his first, he can still do a lot more, and he expects me to do it with him.”

“Are you sticking with him because it’s what you’re expected to do, or because it’s what the country needs you to do?”

“Both. I think.”

“You think or you know?”

“Christ, I have no idea, Toby!”

“You act like I do!” Toby took a deep breath. “Look, Josh, you remember what Leo used to say about President Bartlet?”

“Bartlet was ‘his guy.’ They were best friends, and Bartlet was ‘his guy.’”

“I’ve known since the day I met you and Sam that he was your guy. He’s your best friend. The other side of the coin. He’s the only one who understands all your weird little quirks, and balances you out. He can run, and he should run, from where I’m sitting, but you need to be with him if he’s going to win. Stop worrying about betraying Santos. You know that Sam is what’s best for the country, and that can never be the wrong thing to do.”

“So if I run out on Santos…”

“It’s a betrayal, sure. But in the long run… well, Sam’s your guy.”

“Alright.” Josh stood. “I have to go back, I- I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving.”

“Do you know what you’re going to do?”

“I know what I have to do.” Quickly, firmly, Josh shook Toby’s hand, and went back to work.

Josh’s apartment was quiet, but not empty. The living room lights were on, and Donna sat cross-legged on the sofa, attempting to solve the New York Times crossword.

“Hey,” Josh said, and swooped down to kiss the top of her head.

“Hi.” He sat down next to her, shedding his jacket. “Where’d you go this afternoon? I stopped by your office and you weren’t there.”

“I just…” Josh paused, and thought. She didn’t need to know. Nothing had happened yet. Whatever decision he had made, nothing had changed. “Just stepped out for a minute. I needed a walk.”

“Oh.” Donna seemed to take that as enough of an explanation, and went back to her puzzle.

“Listen, I need to make a call really quick. I’ll just be outside if you need me.”

“Sure.” She kissed his cheek and he slipped out onto the terrace, closing the glass sliding door behind him. With freezing hands, he dialed.

_ Click. _

“Hello?”

“Sam?”

“Josh?”

“It’s me.”

“Hi.” On the other line, something  _ whoosh _ -ed. “Sorry, I’m at the airport, I just got back from Oregon.”

“I can call back-“

“No, it’s fine. What’s up?”

“I’m…” Josh glanced inside at Donna, then out at the National Mall. “I’m in. If you still want to run, I’m in.”

“You’re serious?”

“You were right, Sam.” Josh leaned against the railing. “And… you’re my guy. That means if you run, I’m there.”

“I… thanks, Josh.”

“Don’t mention it. Just tell me where and when.”

“New Hampshire. Next weekend.”

“I’ll be there.”

“I’m glad, Josh.”

“I have to go.”

“Alright. Goodbye, Josh.”

“Bye, Sam.” Josh slipped his phone back into his pocket and re-entered the apartment, shivering as the cold left his bones. Donna looked up at him from her seat on the couch.

“Who was that?”

“Just Sam,” Josh said, and smiled faintly. He didn’t like lying, even by omission, but still. There was nothing to lie about. Nothing had happened. Not yet.

“How is he?” She smiled, and Josh felt his stomach sink.

“He’s good. Just trying to keep his head above water, I think.”

“Tell him I say hi next time you talk to him.”

“Of course.” Josh took a step towards her, opened his mouth to say something, and then thought better. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Night, Josh. I love you.”

“Yeah. I love you too.” Josh put on his sweatpants and crawled into bed, and pretended to be asleep when Donna slid in behind him, wrapping her arm around his waist in that way she always did. It wasn’t that Donna didn’t have her own apartment, but she generally stayed at Josh’s, and Josh generally preferred it that way. It had taken them a while to get used to getting up together, going into work together, coming home together, going to bed together. It was finally routine, and Josh wanted to kick himself, because as much as he now realized that he was right to say yes to Sam, and that this was his end game, their routine was broken. He would tell her tomorrow, if only to get rid of the gut-wrenching guilt he felt now. And maybe in the morning, she wouldn’t look quite as crushed as he imagined her now, over and over in his head.

“Josh? You up?” Donna’s voice from the bathroom woke Josh from his restless sleep. He’d managed to get to sleep at about 4, and now it was 5. An hour of sleep. Wincing at the cracking of his joints, Josh dragged himself out of bed. Donna, already dressed, shoved his clothes from last night into his arms.

“Please put these somewhere other than the bathroom.” Josh tossed them onto the bed and located a clean suit in the closet. He found Donna in the kitchen as he was tying his tie. She pressed a cup of fresh coffee into his hands, and as he saw her, how beautiful she was in the cool blue light flooding in through the windows before the sun rose, he nearly forgot about his guilt. 

“You okay?” she asked, leaning on the kitchen island.

“I talked to Sam last night.” 

“You told me.”

“I told him if he runs, I’m with him.” Donna froze, her clear blue eyes fixed on Josh.

“I thought you said-“

“I know. But I talked to Toby yesterday-“

“So you talked to Toby, but you didn’t talk to me.”

“Donna, he’s our friend-“

“And Helen Santos is my friend,” Donna said, and put down her coffee. “I’m going to work.”

“Donna-“

“And then I’ll probably go back to my apartment tonight.” Before Josh could make a move to stop her, she snagged her purse and coat off the coat rack and was out the door. Sighing, Josh took another sip of his coffee. That had been a disaster, there was no way around it. And the only thing he could keep asking himself was if it was worth it. There were too many questions of worth in this, too much value assigned to things that could not hold value. And Josh had paid already, he had paid quite dearly for his choices. All that was left was to follow through and hope for the best.


	7. Chapter 7

Fall in New Hampshire looked one hell of a lot different than fall in California. C.J. missed the gold and red and orange trees and the leaves under her boots. AJ, who had never seen the leaves change before, cooed in Danny’s arms as they got out of the car, marveling at the red farmhouse camouflaged in front of the woods.

“You ready?” Danny asked, and put his hand gently on the small of her back. C.J. let out a long, slow breath, and smiled.

“Yeah. At the very least, I get to see some old friends.” With Danny and AJ trailing behind her, C.J. climbed the front steps of the farmhouse and knocked. Moments later, the door opened, and she was greeted by two familiar faces.

“C.J.!” Abbey Bartlet’s brilliant smile hadn’t changed. 

“Dr. Bartlet.” Despite their 9-inch height difference, Abbey managed to pull C.J. into a hug. 

“Claudia Jean, how are you?” From behind Abbey, the former president of the United States appeared, and hugged C.J. as well.

“Quite alright, Mr. Bartlet.” He waved a hand, still grinning.

“C.J., it’s been three years. Just call me Jed.”

“I’m not sure I can do that, sir.”

“Too bad.” His eyes caught A.J. behind her, and C.J. stepped aside. “Abigail Josephine, I hope you’re staying out of trouble.” A.J. babbled something that sounded like ‘triceratops’. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Jed! Stop playing with the baby and invite them in!” Abbey smacked her husband gently upside the head. “Hello, Danny.”

“Hi, ma’am.”

“How’s teaching?”

“He’s creating a whole new generation of sharks,” C.J. said, and rolled her eyes.

“If there were no sharks, there wouldn’t be anyone to annoy uptight press secretaries.”

“You’re calling me uptight now?”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Guys. Please stop flirting.” C.J. stopped in her tracks.

“Charlie!” Charlie stood in the kitchen doorway, Zoey lingering behind him. C.J. hugged him tightly, then hugged Zoey. “We haven’t seen you guys-“

“Since the wedding, I think.” Both Charlie and Zoey looked down at the silver bands around their fingers, still unused to the feeling since their wedding that January.

“So,” Abbey said, and poured C.J. a glass of iced tea from the pitcher on the counter. “Do you have any idea why Sam’s asked all of you up here?” C.J. glanced at Danny, then at Charlie. Charlie’s face was blank, and he seemed to have no idea. So she was the only one, then. 

“No,” she lied. “Not a clue.”

“Well, I suppose we can just wait until dinner, then.”

“I’m making chili,” Jed said proudly.

“Are you staying here?” Zoey asked.

“If you’ve got room for us.” Abbey nodded.

“We have plenty of guest rooms upstairs. Come on, I’ll show you.” 

As they returned from dropping their bags in a room, more voices echoed up from the kitchen. C.J. saw Sam and Josh around the counter now, laughing loudly. 

“Guys!” She hugged both of them as well, and realized just how long it had been since she’d seen everyone here in one room. “Who are we still waiting on?” Sam thought for a minute and counted on his fingers. 

“Will, Amy, Joey, and Donna.” Josh shook his head.

“Donna’s not coming.” Sam and C.J. shared a look, but said nothing. 

“So just Will, Amy, and Joey, then,” Sam said.

“Speak of the devil.” Josh gestured to the doorway, where Amy stood.

“I prefer Mephistopheles,” she replied dryly. “Hi, Sam. Dr. Bartlet. Mr. Bartlet.”

“Hello, Amy.” Abbey handed her a glass of iced tea as well. In the hour that followed, Joey arrived, and so did Will, and they all sat down around the long wooden farmhouse table to eat. Sam didn’t say anything about the campaign, so C.J. didn’t either. They chatted about Will’s work in the House, about the construction of the presidential library, about Charlie’s last year of law school, about Danny’s classes, before the subject that defined the evening was even raised.

“Sam,” Joey said (or rather, Joey signed, and Kenny said it). “Not that I don’t love seeing everyone again, but why exactly are we here?” From where C.J. sat, Sam looked like he was about to puke, but he got to his feet, looking to her, to Josh, to Will for support. His long fingers circled his wine glass like it was a lifeline, and C.J. genuinely thought he might faint, but he didn’t. 

“As you all know, I left the Santos White House after only a few weeks. And I would say that I’m rather famously not his biggest fan.” He chuckled weakly, and C.J. saw Jed shift in his seat, considering Sam carefully. “I firmly believe that Matt Santos is not the best choice for the country anymore, and that someone needs to challenge him. Another democrat.” There were mutters and unrest, but C.J. reached over and squeezed Sam’s hand.  _ Keep going,  _ she mouthed. 

“Who?” Joey asked.

“Me.” Charlie’s fork slipped out of his hand and landed on his plate, clinking loudly on the porcelain. There was almost dead silence. Josh, slowly but steadily, stood beside Sam.

“I’m leaving Santos, and I’m running Sam’s campaign. We’re not doing this just on principle. We’re going to win.” Will stood across the table.

“I’m in too.” Sam grinned, his bashfulness slipping away.

“And the real reason you’re all here is that I need a staff, and you’re the best people I know.” Amy raised her glass without a second thought.

“I’m in. What the hell. Where do you want me?” Sam, Josh, and Will sat down, and Sam pulled a notebook out of his back pocket. He flipped through the pages. 

“Amy, I’d like you to be Josh’s deputy. Assistant campaign manager.” Josh turned to Sam, offended.

“Dude. You didn’t ask me before you made my ex girlfriend my deputy?” Amy grinned wickedly.

“I’m so in.” Sam flipped to the next page of his notebook.

“Will. Communications director.”

“You know I’m in.”

“Charlie, deputy communications director. My old job.” Charlie’s jaw dropped.

“I- me?” he stammered. “But, I mean, I’m not even done with law school and I-“

“I’ve read your papers, Charlie. You’re one of the best writers I’ve ever seen.”

“Then… I’m on board.”

“Excellent. C.J., I know it’s a demotion, but I could use a press secretary.” C.J. flinched. She’d seen it coming, but she still didn’t know what the answer was. She looked across the table at Danny, who just shrugged.

“I… maybe.” Sam looked disappointed, but moved on.

“And finally, Joey. I need a pollster.” Joey grinned.

“You want me, you got me.” Sam fell back into his seat.

“We’ll start campaigning next week. Tonight-“ he raised a glass, “-we celebrate.” C.J. raised her glass.

“To Seaborn 2010,” she said.

“Seaborn 2010!” The rest echoed. And that was it for dinner, they went back to their normal conversation as if nothing at all had happened. C.J. couldn’t focus on a word anyone said. She was too occupied thinking about how readily everyone else had agreed. They didn’t have families, most of them weren’t even married. They could agree just like that, without thinking about consequences. They just needed to hand in a letter of resignation and they could go off, trotting across the country to win the presidency. It wasn’t quite so easy for C.J., though, and as she met Abbey’s eyes across the table, she saw that Abbey understood that. No one else did, but Abbey understood, and that was something. As the night went on, people slowly broke off to their own rooms to sleep, a long day of travel finally finding its way into their bones. C.J. and Danny were two of the first, leaving Sam, Will, Jed, Abbey, and Charlie still sitting around the table. Josh had snuck out earlier, staring down at his phone, and instinctively, C.J. knew he was waiting for Donna to call.

A.J. was asleep in minutes, for which C.J. was grateful, because it gave them a moment to talk. 

“What do I do?” she asked, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. 

“I don’t know.” Danny sat next to her. “What do you want to do?”

“Not a clue. I mean, I love Sam, and I love the idea of working with my family again, but you’re my- my actual family, you know that. And I mean, we have A.J., and she’s barely a year old, and I remember what it was like to work in the White House and it’s not conducive to motherhood.”

“But?”

“But… I don’t know how I can just let them all go and do this incredible thing without me.”

“You don’t want to miss out?”

“I know it sounds narcissistic, but I don’t. I want to be a part of American history, Danny. I want to get Sam into that White House.”

“But you don’t want to work in the White House.”

“No, and that’s the problem.”

“So then… just work the campaign. Be his press secretary while he runs, and then find him a replacement and come home.” C.J. looked at him, eyes wide.

“How did I never think of that?”

“Doesn’t matter. Does it sound like a good idea to you?”

“It does.”

“Then I only have one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Come home. Whenever you can. When the campaign’s done, we can reassess, but I can’t go a year and a half without seeing you. I did that for seven years. Just come home to me and A.J. at the end of the day. That’s all.”

“I think I can do that,” C.J. said, and kissed him. 

“I hope you know I’ll miss you like hell,” Danny said as she got up, tossing her hair.

“Not nearly as much as I’ll miss you,” C.J. responded. She’d tell Sam that she was in tomorrow morning, before they headed out. Oddly, she was thrilled by the idea of returning to the campaign stage. It had been a good several years since she’d battled the press, and C.J. had to admit- she was ready for a good fight.


	8. Chapter 8

A sleepless Sam rose from his bed at about two in the morning and went to the window, bare feet freezing but silent on the wooden floor. A wind rustled the leaves on the trees, but otherwise, it was silent. A light flipped on somewhere downstairs and spilled out onto the driveway. Sam found a sweater somewhere in his bag and pulled it on as he padded down the stairs, wincing with every creak in the floorboards. The light came from the kitchen, where someone was tiptoeing around. 

“Who-“ Sam yawned. “Who’s up?”

“Sam?” Will poked his head out from inside the refrigerator, whispering.

“Why are you still up?”

“Why are  _ you  _ still up?”

“Pie,” Will replied, as if that was an answer.

“What?”

“Dr. Bartlet told me there was some extra pie in the fridge if I couldn’t sleep. You want a piece?”

“What kind?” Sam slid into a seat at the kitchen counter.

“Apple.” 

“Yes, please.” Will cut a slice for Sam and set the plate in front of him. “Why couldn’t you sleep?” Sam asked, and took a bite. He made a mental note to ask Abbey for her recipe.

“What makes you think I couldn’t sleep?”

“I can’t imagine you’re voluntarily awake at 2 in the morning.”

“No. I tried, but… to tell you the truth, I needed to say something to you. And I thought maybe if I stayed up, I’d be able to put my thoughts together a little better.” Sam’s breath caught in his throat. It seemed that every time he’d set off on a tough period, and couldn’t seem to get his bearings, Will was there to steady him. Life had never looked tougher than it did right now, and Will had never looked more like a port in a storm.

“And what couldn’t wait until I got up?” Sam asked, smiling easily. He felt like he hadn’t smiled as much in three years as he had in the last week.

“Just a thank you.”

“What are you thanking me for? I should be thanking you.” Will grasped him firmly by the shoulders and stared into his eyes. Sam had never realized how deeply brown Will’s eyes were, run through with bolts of amber when the light hit them, like a tree struck by lightning, the deep colors of the bark forced away to show the brightness within.

“Sam, I feel like I’ve been in a coma for years. Ever since I left California. Russell’s campaign… it just never lit me up the way Wilde’s did. Or your first. I got the better of my own instincts that time, and I regret it.” As Will spoke, Sam felt himself being drawn closer and closer, although whether by Will’s surprisingly strong grip or something beyond conscious choice, he didn’t know. “When you came to Oregon that day, it’s like I was awake for the first time. You woke me up for what will probably be the greatest and most important campaign of my life, maybe of the entire 21st century, and I will be forever in your debt that not only do I get to be a part of something this great, I’m doing it with you.” Neither of them had quite realized how close they were until then, and Will took a step back, and started polishing his glasses with his shirtsleeve. The light hit his eyes in that lightning-strike way again. “You can win, Sam. You  _ will  _ win. I’m just grateful I’ll be there to see you do it.” Bashful, he replaced his glasses and started back towards the stairs.

“Will!” Sam whisper-shouted. “You don’t want any pie?” A curious expression came over Will’s face.

“I didn’t come down for pie.” With that, he went back upstairs, his footsteps on the floorboards creaking over Sam’s head. Sam took his pie and stepped out onto the porch. He let the cool night air run through him, but didn’t shiver.

“You’re up late.” Sam nearly fell down the front steps, but turned to see the former president sitting on his own front porch, holding a cup of tea, staring up into the stars.

“Sorry, sir, I didn’t see you there.”

“Sam, you know you can call me Jed now, right?”

“I… I don’t think I can do that, sir.”

“Well, fine. Have a seat.” Sam sat across from Jed, fiddling with his fork. “Do you see that constellation up there?” Jed asked, and pointed to an array of stars. “Do you know what it is?”

“It won’t surprise you to hear that I don’t, sir.”

“It’s Leo. The lion.” He smiled up at the stars, as if greeting an old friend. “Do you know the story of Leo, Sam?”

“The constellation?”

“Yeah.”   
“I don’t.”

“Leo is the Nemean Lion that Heracles- or Hercules, if you prefer the Romans- was tasked to kill in the first of his 12 labors. The lion was impervious to weapons, so no one had been able to kill it, so instead, Heracles used his brute strength and killed it with his bare hands. He wore the lion’s skin for the remainder of his mortal life in order to utilize the pelt’s protective qualities for himself.”

“So how does that apply to me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I assume there was a metaphor in there somewhere.”

“No. Metaphor was always Leo’s thing. I’m much too literal for that kind of thing. I guess that was what balanced us out.”

“You were a good team.” Sam truly had never seen two people who fit so perfectly together as they worked. They functioned as one entity, two halves of a single brain. It was no wonder they had won two terms together. There was no way they could lose.

“You and Josh are a better team.” Sam turned his head from the stars.

“Why do you say that?” Jed shrugged.

“You’re younger. Less jaded, more progressive. You’re only 40, but you’ve already got two terms in congress and a term as governor under your belt, plus a term as my deputy communications director and some time as Santos’ deputy chief of staff. That’s more experience than Matt Santos ever had.”

“But people complained that Santos was too young. I’m 3 years younger than he is.”

“And people will complain that you’re too young and too inexperienced. They said I wouldn’t do a good job, because before I was in politics, I was just an economics professor. I knew next to nothing about foreign policy. In your admittedly brief time as both an elected and appointed official, you know more about a wider range of subjects than almost any president we’ve had learned in 20 more years of public service. It’s not always about what you’ve done, if it was, no one new would ever achieve anything. I told you once a long time ago that you’d run for president one day, and that you’d have plenty of help.”

“‘You listen to everybody and then you call the play.’ That’s what you said.”

“I’m surprised you remember it. Just… don’t be scared, Sam. You can do it. I believe in you.” Jed patted Sam on the shoulder and then got up, leaning on his cane for support. “There’s not a better team in the world than the one you have here.” He gave one last look out towards the constellation Leo. “Oh, and Sam?”

“Yes, sir?”

“When you’re in office, make sure to invite me over for a game of chess.” He grinned and then went inside. Sam didn’t know if he’d intentionally repeated the same thing he’d said to Sam during that game of chess they’d played so many nights ago, but it was reassuring to know he still thought the same thing. Sam leaned back in his chair, took another bite of pie, and looked up at Leo, waiting for the sun to rise on another New Hampshire day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you enjoyed it, please leave a comment, I promise you it makes my day as a writer. thank you so much for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

While Sam sat on the porch, watching the stars and the leaves swirl in the wind, Josh sat on the edge of the bed, looking at his phone. God, why did he spend so much time looking at his phone? It seemed like everything he had done in the last week had been punctuated by long periods of sitting and waiting for someone to call. He and Donna hadn’t argued in the few days before he left for New Hampshire, but they hadn’t been particularly affectionate, either. She was gone before he woke up, and usually came home after he was asleep. The only time she bothered to start conversation (not that he could really blame her, could he) was to ask him if he’d handed in his resignation yet. He hadn’t, he told her, and he was going to wait to see what happened in New Hampshire. She smiled grimly and went to work.

Truthfully, Josh didn’t know what he could do to fix this. He wasn’t leaving Sam, not now, not for anything. That was how this worked, and that was how they had decided it would work in the beginning. And Josh understood that he had made this decision without talking to her, and he shouldn’t have done that, but it was Sam, couldn’t she see that? They owed Sam more than maybe anyone else they knew, and beyond that, they loved Sam. He was Donna’s best friend just as much as he was Sam’s. Donna couldn’t stay mad at him forever, not for this. Josh realized all too late that it was 2 in the morning for Donna too, and that she’d be asleep even if he wasn’t.

“Shit-”

“Hello?” He paused with his finger halfway to hanging up. “Hellooo?” she asked again.

“Donna?”

“Josh? It’s late.”

“I know, hon. I’m sorry.”

“How’s New Hampshire?” she said after a long pause.

“It’s good. I wish you were here.”

“Yeah, well. I had work.”

“Everyone’s on board, Don. Everyone. Me and Will and Joey and Amy and Charlie. C.J., too, probably. We’re going to meet again in California again on Wednesday to talk about-”

“Good. Good for Sam. But, Josh-”

“What do you mean, ‘but?’”

“You shouldn’t tell the opposition about your campaign plans. You know that.” Josh fell backwards onto the bed, suddenly nauseous, like he’d been struck with sudden vertigo.

“Opposition?”

“I’m working for Helen Santos, Josh. I might not be heading up the campaign, but-”

“You’re not joining us?”

“Josh.” Donna spoke tensely now. “You took the job on Sam’s campaign without even telling me. I’m not changing my entire life. I like my life. I like working for Mrs. Santos, I like going into my own office every day, and I like having responsibilities, and I like- I liked coming home with you every day.”

“I know, and I’m sorry I didn’t ask you about it, Donna, but these are our friends we’re talking about.”

“Helen Santos is my friend-”

“So you said! But I can’t believe you’d choose her over us!”

“She is the only person who’s ever seen me as capable, Josh, of big things-”

“I hired you eleven years ago when you didn’t even have a college degree to your name, Donna! I gave you a chance! I’ve known you, I’ve seen you grow for twelve years. She’s known you for what, three years?”

“You spent twelve years shutting me down every time I asked to do more! Twelve years scheduling your meetings and fetching your files is nothing compared to two years with her, doing real things!”

“We are your family, Donna!”

“I owe her something, Josh! If you win, we’ll talk.”

“Wait, we need to-” The line went dead. “Don…” But she was gone. Josh threw the phone at a pillow and missed, hitting the wall. “Shit.”

“Josh, what the fuck?” Amy asked, muffled through the wall.

“Sorry.”

“Go to sleep.”

“Shut up.” Josh crawled under the covers and stared out the window. He’d give just about anything to be able to ask Donna’s advice right now, he realized. He missed that, he missed being able to ask her truthfully how to solve his problems. Yes, she’d almost always just tell him it was his fault and to suck it up, but she was still right. Donna was always right.

In the car back from the airport, Josh rehearsed what he was going to say to Donna, like lines in a play. He’d walk in, she’d be mad, he’d apologize, she’d be less mad. And maybe she would come with him to California on Wednesday. He could see from the street that the living room light was on, which was a good sign. It meant she was working on the crossword. Josh climbed the stairs two at a time, his backpack swinging behind him, excitement building in his gut. This was going to be good, he could feel it. He would fix everything tonight. The key shook in his hand as he unlocked the door.

“Donna? I’m-”

The door swung open, creaking on its hinges, to reveal the living room empty.

“-home,” Josh finished, and dropped his bags. “Donna?” he called, tiptoeing as if he wouldn’t have already woken her with his yelling. She must have forgotten to turn out the light before she went to bed. “Donna, are you in bed already?” He knocked gently on the bedroom door and pushed it open. The bed was empty and it had been made up. Defeated, Josh stood in the doorway. “Donna!” One last fruitless attempt. Josh checked the bathroom. Empty. The kitchen. Empty. The balcony. Empty. She wasn’t there. Giving up, Josh pulled his shirt over his head and opened the closet to toss it into the hamper. He never got that far. The small section of the closet that used to house some clothes for Donna whenever she didn’t have time to go home in the mornings was empty, just a few loose hangers swinging where her suits used to hang. Josh checked the bathroom cabinet. Her toothbrush and moisturizer were gone too. Without thinking, he picked up the landline and called her apartment. It seemed the logical course of action, although she clearly hadn’t been kidnapped. Josh didn’t even remember they were fighting. He just wanted to know where she was.

_ Click.  _

“Hello?” Josh opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat, and he hung up. She was at her own apartment, and she had taken her clothes and toothbrush with her. At work tomorrow, Josh would hand in the letter of resignation that had been sitting in his top desk drawer since he called Sam that night that seemed to be years ago now. And then he would come home and pack up his things, and Donna would be sitting in her own apartment, doing the crossword, on the opposite side.


	10. Chapter 10

Base camp was a storefront in downtown Sacramento, in an area that had once been all but abandoned and was on the verge of gentrification. Sam had used his admittedly short tenure as governor to revitalize it and areas like it, so it was only fitting that this was where he would begin his campaign for president. The team had been in town for nearly a week, setting up headquarters, assembling volunteers and putting together preliminary plans. Matt Santos announced his re-election campaign on Tuesday, a mere two days after Josh had called Sam to say he had resigned. Santos worked quickly, then, to replace him. That mattered less to Sam. He had Josh now, and it didn’t matter who Santos had. Sam called Ginger early and asked her to plan a press conference for that night. All he had to do now was decide what he was going to say, and for that, he needed a speechwriter.

“Sam?” Will called as he stormed through the front doors of the storefront. Sam glanced up from his desk to see Will shaking water out of his hair, his jacket soaked through.

“Oh my god, tell me it’s not raining.”

“It’s not raining,” Will said, deadpan, as thunder crashed outside.

“Damn it.”   
“It’ll be fine.” Will squeezed his shoulder, and some of the tension faded. “Even if I have to hold an umbrella over your head while you speak.”

“We need to finish the speech. Charlie’s wrapping some things up back in D.C. so for today-” Sam spread his arms. “-I’m your deputy.”

“I couldn’t ask for a better one.” Will sat on the other side of the desk and pulled his legal pad out of his bag. Six years later, technology was far better than it had ever been in their early days of campaigning, and Will still preferred paper. It was charmingly old-fashioned. “We have your opening story about the floods, and then your official announcement. That’s the soundbite. We go from that into your personal story, from Laguna Beach to Princeton and Duke, to New York then New Hampshire then D.C. and back to Sacramento. From there, we talk platform, and wrap it up with another story.”

“So what still needs to be finished?”

“We need that last story. And in order to do that, I need to know more about your life. What about you ties into a political issue?” Sam shrugged, which made Will laugh.

“I’m an middle-class white kid from suburban California who went to good schools on merit scholarships. I’ve never worked anywhere that wasn’t a law firm or a political office. I’m really not all that interesting.” Sam stood up and crossed the room to the coffee pot. “Coffee?”

“Sure. I can’t believe there’s nothing about you that connects you to your platform in a personal way. I mean, the environment?”

“I mean, I live in a state where global warming causes wildfires, but it’s not like my house ever spontaneously combusted.”

“Healthcare?”

“My parents have good insurance. I care about these things, Will, but I don’t have any personal stake.”

“Come on. Equal rights. There has to be something there. Everyone has a stake in equality.” Sam wavered and took a sip of coffee.

“I mean, I can’t get married.” Will spit out his coffee. “Well, okay, I can, just not technically to the kind of person I’d be interested in marrying, but-”

“Wait, I’m sorry, go back a second. You’re gay?”

“Yes.”

“Like, homosexual.”

“That is what gay means, yeah.” Sam sat and waited patiently for Will to finish processing. How he hadn’t known was a miracle. Sam really thought everyone knew. It hadn’t been a secret for a long time. Toby had officially known for ten years, C.J. for four, and Josh for two, but Sam suspected everyone had known since long before that. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I figured you knew.”

“I didn’t.”

“So it would seem.” Will opened his mouth, and hesitated.

“That’s- I mean- well, it’s perfect for the speech. Marriage equality.”

“Wait, Will, I didn’t bring it up earlier because I’m not interested in being the gay candidate. Tokenism isn't for me. I’ll campaign for marriage equality, but I won’t base my platform around it.”

“Don’t worry. Can I put it in the speech?” Sam chuckled.

“It’ll be one hell of a shock to the conservatives that voted for me, but it’s probably time I told them.”

“Excellent. I’ll have a draft for you in twenty minutes.”

“Will?”

“Yes?”

“This is probably a ridiculous question for the most liberal person I’ve ever worked with, but… you’re okay with working for a gay man, right?” It sounded absurd even coming out of Sam’s mouth, but he couldn’t bear to think that all the rose-colored moments he and Will had had over the years would be tainted with the dull shine of homophobia. Now it was Will’s turn to laugh.

“Sam, I-” Rolling his eyes, Will pushed up his sleeve and held out his arm so that Sam could see the underside, and by extension the solid black equal sign tattooed just below the crook of his elbow. He raised his eyebrows pointedly and rolled the sleeve back down. “Twenty minutes.” Well, that explained that. Will left, and Sam took another sip of coffee. Rain still pounded the windows, but he wasn’t quite so worried about it. Rain was good. Rain meant spectacle, and spectacle was just what this campaign needed.

The rain didn’t stop in the hours before the press conference. In fact, it only poured harder. As Sam’s town car pulled up to the old waterfront district, his heart leapt into his throat. Josh, sitting beside him, elbowed him reassuringly.

“It’s going to be great, Sam. It’s just a speech. You’re an incredible speaker, and Will and Charlie wrote you an incredible speech.”

“I know, just…” Sam forced down the rising panic. “After this, Santos is gonna know. Everyone’s gonna know. We can’t go back.”

“Do you want to go back? We can turn this car around right now and you can go home and go back to governing.” Sam shook his head. He didn’t even have to think about it.

“No. I made this choice, and it’s the right one. We’re doing it.” He was out of the car almost before it stopped and hopped onto the sidewalk, waving to the crowd of people who had gathered to see him speak. Ginger offered him an umbrella as he mounted the podium, but he refused it. All around him, rain soaked the pavement, but it didn’t even faze him. “Hi,” he called, and waited for quiet. “Thank you all for coming out today. Before I get started, I just wanted to ask if anyone had seen an ark this morning? Or maybe some animals going two by two?” There were some assorted chuckles, and as Sam looked to the back of the crowd, where his friends were gathered, his apprehension faded. “About 150 years ago, California, Oregon, and Nevada were hit with the biggest flood in each of their respective histories. Sacramento, where we stand now, took the brunt of the impact. The city was left underwater for three months. One of my predecessors as governor, Leland Stanford, traveled to his inauguration by rowboat. The city, along with many others, was decimated. It went from being the center of the Gold Rush, a beacon of light for those seeking opportunity, to a buried city, disappearing under ten feet of water. But the flood, like all things, came to an end. The levee was broken, and the waters fell, and when they did, the city was rebuilt. Old Town Sacramento, where I stand before you now, was raised up 15 feet. They raised an entire city so that no flood would ever be as devastating as the one in 1862. That was not the last flood in Sacramento, nor will it be, so long as climate change keeps causing water levels to rise. And yet, we know now, that by the feats of engineering that put us here today, the next time it floods, we won’t be buried.” Sam stifled a smile. Here in the speech, Will had scribbled in  _ pause for applause.  _ “That story is not without its caveats. Sacramento today, like the rest of the country, is built on its own bones, but it was also built by Chinese immigrants, who continue to face unimaginable bigotry in the very country they helped construct, and the city was built on the land of the Nisenan, Modoc, and Plains Miwok indigenous people. We are a country at war with our own ideals- refusing to acknowledge that we stand on ground we owe to the same people we won’t even grant equality. We have come much further than we once were, but we aren’t done yet. Sacramento is founded on the idea of rebirth, of starting over from the ground up and coming back stronger. It’s about rising above, so that if another flood comes, we won’t be knocked down. Today, floods come in all forms. Climate change threatens our every day, and yet we ignore the solutions that scientists present. 38.1 million Americans live in poverty, and the wealthy and well-connected have rigged the system to keep them there. 109 people die every day as a result of gun violence. These are fights that do not just affect us. They’ll affect our children, and their children, just as surely as our grandparents’ fights affect us today. We can’t rewrite our story, nor can we afford to simply edit it. We must start a new chapter, a new direction, and change our country at its core. I’m here to rebuild the country, just like Sacramento was rebuilt a century and a half ago, not just for myself, but for everyone who needs that extra 15 feet above the water.” In the very back, Sam noticed Charlie mouthing along with the words. He reached for the glass of water on the podium, suddenly parched, took a deep breath, and kept going. “That’s why I stand before you, the great-grandson of one of those gold miners who rebuilt after the flood, to announce my candidacy for President of the United States.” Sam took that moment of pause, which Will and Charlie had built in to allow people to process their shock, to wipe his face and slick his hair back. He didn’t bother with his clothes, they were beyond help. “I was born in the middle of the Vietnam War, the Civil Rights movement, and the Cold War. I grew up 7 hours from here in Laguna Beach, and I grew up watching the world change because of the people who were willing to fight to change it. I’ve worked in the White House and advised the president. I found my way to success, but I have watched year after year as it gets easier for people like me to achieve that success and as it gets harder for minorities to reach the same point. It’s not the result of an inevitability, nor is it accidental. And with every year, the voices of these minority groups shout louder, and every year, Washington grows more and more numb to their cries. Racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, islamophobia, antisemitism, and xenophobia grow stronger with every election cycle and it’s time to end the established discrimination we are so used to after so many years. Discrimination isn’t the only issue we face. Public school teachers make $60,000 a year on average. Public school funding has been cut by $6.1 billion. We expect our schools to build a newer, better generation of students, but we refuse to give them the money to do so. We need the massive education reform that we’ve been promised.” Josh winced. “And we need higher taxes for the wealthy. The top 20% of Americans hold 86% of the wealth in this country, and it needs to be redistributed. 27 million Americans can’t afford healthcare, a necessity, and are sent deeper and deeper into debt by hospital bills and Big Pharma while that top 20% lines their pockets with the blood of poor Americans. The concept of democracy begs us to place the burden of choice on the people, and yet voter suppression and gerrymandering have gone on unobstructed for centuries. The people are supposed to decide who they want to represent them, and yet our politicians are funded by PACs and federal lobbyists. I won’t. I won’t take a dime of PAC money, nor will I accept applications from billionaires who want to run a PAC on my behalf. This fight is about an equal America for everyone who lives here. That means criminal justice reform- abolition of private prisons and an end to mandatory minimums and racial profiling. That means an end to institutionalized bigotry. Religious practice must remain free and entirely separate from government action. Abortion must remain safe, legal, and accessible. ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ must come to an end, and marriage equality must come to all 50 states!” While applause thundered in his ears, Sam let out a shaky breath. It wasn’t a secret, and it couldn’t be a secret. He had learned once what secrets could do to a presidency. Still, he’d never broadcasted it, mostly out of self-preservation. But he had to. He had to bring it home. “I, like all of my fellow LGBTQ+ Americans, deserve the right to be married in any state, in accordance with the American principles of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. We are all different people, with different experiences and different ideals, but there is not a single person in this country that doesn’t deserve equity regardless of skin color, religion, gender, and sexual orientation. This is not a battle that can be won individually- we must band together by our shared values and create an America where people are simply who they are, without barriers formed because of those differences. This is going to be difficult, I won’t deny that. It’s been an unique journey just for me to get here, so for some context, I’d like to tell you all the story of my first ever candidacy. Now, many of you know about that unusual congressional race in the California 47th that put me in Congress. That was not actually my first candidacy. No, the first campaign I ever ran for myself was in the 8th grade at Thurston Middle School in Laguna Beach. I ran for class president. It was me versus Kelly Molina. I ran on the platform of introducing more art programs. I had everything: statistics about how helpful arts programs are to developing students, a fundraising plan, a dozen magic marker posters that my mother helped me make. My opponent, Kelly, ran on the platform of ice cream for lunch and eliminating gym class. She had no concrete plans, but her mom owned a bakery, so she gave out cupcakes to any kid who promised to vote for her. Suffice to say, I lost by a landslide, and we got neither ice cream for lunch nor the elimination of gym class.” More laughter. “My point is that democracy has a lot of influences- dazzling policy plans, monetary resources, and a ridiculous amount of hard work- but it comes down to we, the people. When it’s all over, it’s you, the people of the United States, who decide what’s best for the country. It may be the government who decides where the money goes, but it’s the people who do the rebuilding, just like Sacramento. We’re in a flood, and this election is the deciding moment. Do we let ourselves be sunk, or do we build up higher? Stand with me, and and we will form a new America, not just for the people with money and influence, but for everyone. It’s time to break the levee and end the flood so that we can finally start to rebuild. Thank you. Stay dry.” Sam felt as though he might collapse as he left the platform. Josh was there to catch him though, and wrapped Sam in a tight, if soaking wet, hug.

“You did amazing, man,” he murmured into Sam’s shoulder.

“Did I? I think I blacked out.”

“You get used to that,” Will said sagely. “But Josh is right. That was incredible.”

“Glad to hear it.” Somewhere, sandwiched between Sam and Josh, a phone began to ring. “Is that you or me?” Josh released him.

“It’s not me.” Sam found his phone in his breast pocket and looked at the caller ID. It was a Washington number, one he knew well. Holding up a finger to his friends, he stepped back.

“Hello?”

“Please hold for the President of the United States.” His stomach folded in on itself, or something like that. 

“Sam.”

“President Santos.”

“I saw your speech.”

“Oh. Did you like it? My speechwriters and I worked hard-”

“Cut the crap, Sam.”

“Alright, sir.”

“You’re really going to challenge a sitting president in the primaries?”

“I am, sir.”

“And you think that’s a good idea?”

“It’s what’s right, Mr. President. I don’t believe you’re the right choice for the presidency.”

“And you are.” Sam didn’t actually think he’d ever heard the president sound so angry. He could hide it well in real life, but over the phone, it slipped into his tone like poison. 

“We’ll see what the American people think.”

“Sure. I have meetings to get to- I’m a busy man, you know- but I thought I’d call to just say congratulations.”

“Is that it, sir?” Sam was exhausted. He didn’t like the way Matt Santos held his power, like it was a weapon to be used on those who displeased him, and he never liked being on the receiving end of it.

“One more thing. Sam?”

“Yes?”

“You and Josh had better be prepared for the fight of your lives.” 

_ Click. _

The line went dead. Sam slipped his phone back into his pocket and shivered. The rain pounded the Sacramento river beside him. The waters looked like they were getting higher. Like it might flood.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have become aware that I’m not immune to the occasional typo (especially when I write on my phone) so if you notice something please let me know so I can fix it. thank you!

“Charlie? Where’s my suitcase?” C.J. leaned against the hood of Charlie’s car and stared him down.

“Uh.” He winced and checked the trunk. “Uh oh.”

“You forgot my stuff?!”

“Sorry!”

“I have it, C.J.,” Josh called from where he and Sam had just pulled into the driveway. They were at Sam’s parents’ San Diego beach house for the weekend before the debate. It would be the first time any of them had actually seen Matt Santos in the six months since Josh left the White House, and C.J. could feel the anxiety growing. But it was debate camp, and everyone always loved debate camp. Especially Sam, only he didn’t look excited as he got out of Josh’s car and tossed his hair in the salty sea breeze. C.J. and Charlie shared a glance, but said nothing.

“I’m not driving back with Will,” Amy said, and glared at the aforementioned Will. “If I have to hear another Elton John song I swear I’m gonna puke.”

“You can drive back with me,” C.J. assured her. “Sam, can we unload our stuff before we start in?” Sam tossed her a set of keys.

“Bedrooms are upstairs. There’s four bedrooms, so two of you have to share.”

“Not it!” Josh and Charlie called out simultaneously.

“I think we have our winners.” C.J. smirked. 

“It’s fine, guys. You can take the master bedroom.”

“You’re not coming in?” C.J. asked. Sam shook his head.

“In a minute. I’m just going to check in with Joey. She had a few things to wrap up, but she’ll be down tomorrow.”

“Okay.” C.J. ruffled his hair. All of her biological brothers were older, which meant they were tormentors. Sam was the closest thing she’d ever had to a little brother, and it made her wish she’d had one growing up. Someday, she and Danny would get around to having a second kid, and then maybe A.J. would get the older sibling experience C.J. never had.

The beach house was nicer than Sam had described it, with stone floors and an enormous kitchen. The living room, with some minor adjustments, would be the perfect place for debate practice. Amy sat on the stairs, apparently having already put her bags in her room.

“Is he ready?” she asked as C.J. passed, so quietly she almost didn’t hear it.

“For the debate?”

“Yeah.”   
“Well…” C.J. tried to think, but truthfully, she hadn’t seen Sam really debate in awhile. “I don’t know. We’ll just have to see.” Amy just nodded and let her pass. C.J.’s phone chimed in her back pocket, and she pulled it out to see that Danny had texted her a photo of A.J. at the park, sitting in the baby swing. She’d have to call him later, if just to hear his voice and maybe A.J.'s too (she was talking now, if only words like ‘mama’, ‘dada’, and ‘potus’). She returned from her room to find Josh and Amy pushing furniture around in the living room.

“Put your back into it, Josh!”

“I can think of a couple things I’d like to put my back into,” Josh grumbled.

“What does that even mean?” C.J. asked, and flopped down on the chair they were trying to move. 

“To tell you the truth, no idea.”

“Let’s get started,” Sam said, appearing suddenly in the doorway. He dropped his duffel bag on the floor, not bothering to take them upstairs. Josh raised his eyebrows in surprise, but dug his notes out of his backpack.

“Uh… okay. Who wants to stand in for Santos?” Absolutely nobody’s hand shot up. “Come on, someone’s got to do it.”

“You know Santos the best. You know what he’d say,” Will suggested.

“Yes, but I’m the boss man, and the boss man has to be able to take notes on what Sam needs to change.”

“Actually, I think I’m the boss man,” Sam said.

“Sure, Sam. Will, you’re up.” Will sighed, but stood next to Sam at the makeshift podiums they’d assembled from a narrow bookshelf and a glass display case. C.J. had to admit that Sam looked presidential, even in his t-shirt and shorts. It was just something about the way he stood. With one exception.

“Can I make a suggestion?” She raised her hand. 

“What?”

“Sam, you need a haircut before the debate.” Sam looked offended.

“I look good.”

“He looks good,” Josh repeated.   
“I like the long hair,” Will agreed.

“I like it too, and I agree that it looks good, but it’s unprofessional. You look like a college kid.” Sam grinned and rolled his eyes.

“C.J.. I’m younger than Santos, and he’s already pretty young. I’ve held half as much political office as he has. The only things I have going for me until people start listening are that I’m smarter than he is and I’m hotter than he is.”

“You can say that again,” Will muttered.

“What?” Amy asked, a bemused smile on her face.

“What?” Will repeated. “Anyway, I think Sam’s right. The hair won’t make that much of a difference.”

“Fine. But Sam, you have to wear your glasses.”

“What? Why?”

“You look older.”

“C.J.-”

“Wear the damn glasses.”

“Fine. Does anyone else have any critiques on my appearance.”

“I have one.” Charlie raised his hand. “Why are your shorts so short?” Sam was fond of 5-inch inseams as opposed to the 11-inch that the rest of the men preferred.

“Can we get back to politics, please?” Josh waved a hand.

“Fine. Starting with you, Governor Seaborn, there are millions of Americans currently without healthcare. What do you propose the federal government do to solve that?”

“My approach to healthcare is comprehensive. Healthcare is a necessity, and it’s despicable that we’ve allowed insurance companies to hold Americans hostage over their hospital bills for this long. The only logical solution is Medicare for all. That’s the only way we can even the socioeconomic scales in regards to people’s well being, if we ensure that the wealthy aren’t exerting their power over the poor by restricting access to healthcare.” Sam took off his glasses and set them on the bookshelf.

“Is that it?” C.J. asked.

“Well, Santos’ll talk, and I’ll respond, and so on.”

“I know, but…” C.J. looked around, and it was clear everyone else was thinking the same thing she was. “Santos has been promising Medicare for all for three years. You’re not going to bring that up?”

“I’ll bring it up after he talks. That way I don’t seem too aggressive.”

“Sam, we’re not worried about you coming off as too aggressive. But if you wait for Santos to bring it up, you’re going to seem passive.” Josh nodded in agreement.

“I’d rather come off as passive than aggressive.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Passive doesn’t win elections. You’re smarter than he is and you’re better than he is. All you have to do is prove it.” C.J. sat on top of the sofa, and Josh resettled himself to lean comfortably against her legs.

“Okay, Sam,” he said. “Let’s try something else. Military involvement in other countries.” Sam shifted and reset his shoulders.

“In recent years, American military involvement in foreign affairs has been almost entirely out of economic self-interest and has come at the cost of other countries’ freedom to operate outside of U.S. jurisdiction. We need to reduce the amount of military presence in foreign countries and make a policy shift to be more responses to the wishes of our allies.”

“Now, unlike my opponent, I’m a military man,” Will said, doing his best Santos impression, which made C.J. giggle. “And I understand that someone with less experience in foreign affairs might not understand this, but the U.S. has a responsibility as the world’s biggest superpower to step in when the citizens of other countries are at risk.”

“Well, sure, but-”

“And we can’t always rely on our allies to step in, or to ask us to step in. If we have the power to help, we have the obligation.”

“I-”

“The United States was founded on a basis of democracy, on the principles of liberty and free will. We have a duty to assist other countries who are working toward that goal.”

“Wait, I’m-”

“And-”

“Will.” C.J. held out a hand to stop him from going any further. She could see from the look on Sam’s face that the damage had been done. “Look, Sam-” He shook his head.

“I’m fine.” Glancing briefly at his watch, he managed a grin. “Who’s up for a game of basketball?”

They gathered in the driveway, which had a court spray-painted on it, already sweating under the sun. 

“We have six people. Three per team?” Josh suggested. Amy looked up from where she sat in a lounge chair under a large tree.

“Five people,” she corrected.

“Okay, fine. Five people.”

“I call C.J. on my team.” Sam stood by her.

“Okay, then that’s the three of us.” Sam looked up at C.J..

“You’re good at basketball, right?” C.J. shrugged.

“I played in high school. Could’ve played in college, but they didn’t have a basketball team at Williams.”

“Good. Because I’m pretty bad.”

“Wait, what?” But the boys were already off, and C.J. had no choice but to join the fray. She easily snagged the ball from Will and dunked before anyone even knew what was happening.

“That’s a point for us, I believe.” C.J. and Sam high-fived.

“Wait, that’s not fair.”

“Neither is life. Suck it up, Joshua.”

“Whoo.” Amy cheered half-heartedly with her face buried in a magazine. “Go, whoever’s winning.” As the game resumed, C.J. lost herself in the heat and the effort. She missed days like this. There used to be so many of them, she never thought she’d see her last game of pickup basketball or her last poker game in Leo’s office or her last early morning flight spent cracking stupid jokes to try to keep each other awake. They were her family, more than anyone except her dad and of course Danny and A.J., and this, even hearing the same questions twenty different times because Sam rephrased his answers twenty different ways, it felt more like home to her than anything else she had ever done. Yes, there was something to be said for a quiet life with a house and a family and a 401k, but the simple thrill of knowing words could change the world, and being the one to write those words, wasn’t comparable to anything else she had ever done. And so, at the beach house in San Diego, for the first time since agreeing to join the campaign, C.J. wasn’t sure that she wanted to quit once it was all over.


	12. Chapter 12

When Sam went down to dinner on the third day of debate camp, there were a great many things he expected to see: Joey and Kenny conversing in rapid ASL, Josh and Amy throwing french fries at each other’s heads, C.J. showing Charlie one of her many slideshows of A.J. at the beach. What he didn’t expect was Toby sitting at the counter, stone-faced except for his bouncing leg.

“Hi.”

“Uh. Hi.” He raised his cup of coffee in greeting.

“...why are you here?” 

“I called him,” C.J. said, and brushed past Sam into the kitchen. “We’ve done as much for you going into the debate as we can, but no one will prepare you better than Toby.”

“That’s true,” Sam agreed. He and Toby hadn’t seen each other in a long time. Once or twice after Sam came back, and then once at Christmas last year. Toby had never quite forgiven him for going off to California and leaving him with Will, and Sam had never really forgiven Toby for betraying Josh. More than C.J., more than the president, Sam cared that Toby had betrayed Josh. And yet, Toby was more like family to Sam than anyone else. He was the first person to find out Sam was gay, only a week or so after Sam figured it out for himself. He was the one who offered to drop everything and come help Sam run for Congress the first time. He was Toby, who threw bouncy balls at the window until Sam came over and who made sure Sam got enough to eat when he worked late. He was the closest thing to an older brother Sam had ever had. And C.J. was right, no one was better at debate prep than Toby.

“You ready?” Toby asked.

“For what?”

“Debate prep,” he said, and grabbed two beers from the fridge as he left the room.

“Toby? Toby!” Sam chased after him out of the house and down onto the beach. Toby sat in the sand, facing the water, and Sam sat down beside him.

“Beer?” He took the beer from Toby and cracked it open. 

“You really want to drink while we discuss policy?”

“I’m not here to discuss policy.”

“I thought C.J. called you to help with debate prep.”

“She did, just not that kind of debate prep.”

“She thinks I’m too passive.”

“You are. Listen, Matt Santos isn’t a complete jackass, but he will walk all over you at the debate if you let him. Not because he’s trying to completely wipe you out, but because you won’t throw the first punch. Debate isn’t a defense game, Sam, you know that. You were a debate champion in high school.”

“How did you-”

“I’ve seen your old yearbooks. You were a nerd, but that’s a good thing. Santos is smart. You’re smarter.”

“I know that, but if you’ll recall, it didn’t help Arnold Vinick that he was smarter.”

“The argument there was that Arnie Vinick was the recipient of twelve years of private school education and he had the money to pay his way through Yale and Stanford. You’re a public school student, like Santos. You went to Princeton and Duke on merit scholarships and the money you made waiting tables at the country club your parents weren’t wealthy enough to be members of. You’re just as self-made as Matt Santos, and you’re smarter, too. Don’t let him make you out to be another Bartlet- another upper-class, privately-educated genius, you’re not that. What you are is smart. Not money-smart, or connections-smart. Just smart.” 

“You said something just like that to Bartlet once, you know that?” Toby sipped his beer and shrugged.

“I was right then. I’m right now. You’re so similar to him, but you’re not the same.”

“That’s what he said to me.”

“I’m not surprised. Bartlet knows a lot, and he has a lot of great ideas, but he never wants to feel like the bad guy. You’re the same way. It worked before, but it won’t work for you, because Santos is similar to Bartlet too. The three of you are sides of the same-”

“Coin?”

“Coins only have two sides. I was going to go with the same die. Like dice.”

“That makes more sense.”

“I was never good with the flowery language. That was always your forte.”

“We were great together, weren’t we?” Toby nodded and Sam thought he looked like he might cry, although that was always sort of how Toby looked, that perpetually sad basset hound face.

“I’ve never met a writer as good as you.”

“Not even Will?”

“Will’s the only person who could ever come close, but no. You have a way with words, Sam. You just need to act like it.”

“I miss writing sometimes. It’s been so long since I just sat down and wrote something for the hell of it.”

“You still could. You could start your memoirs.”

“I’m a little busy at the moment, but I’ll give it some thought.” Sam smiled and wrapped his arms around his knees. “Do you ever miss it?”

“Writing? Sometimes.”

“No. All of it. The White House, the campaigns, the running. Do you ever miss the thrill of not knowing what was coming until election day hit and it was all over?” Toby cracked a smile.

“It’s not over, Sam. You’ve got the most important election day of your life ahead of you. Stop thinking about how we used to write and run and run and write. That’s not who we are anymore.”

“And you don’t have any regrets about that? Or miss it at all?”

“I…” Sighing, Toby tugged at his beard. “I have a lot of regrets, Sam. More than the average person. But if I had the chance to go back and fix all the things I did wrong, I don’t think I would. All the mistakes I made, hell, all the mistakes you made, that’s what got you here. Your destiny.”

“You never struck me as someone who believes in destiny.”

“I don’t. How could I? How could I believe that I’m supposed to wind up anywhere other than where I am? I could never know what was supposed to happen, and there’s too many variables that could take me off course. Logically, the concept of destiny makes no sense. So I believe destiny is just where your life, and your choices, take you. And this is yours.” He checked his watch.

“I have to go. My flight’s in two hours and it’s a hike back to the airport.”

“I’ll walk you back to the house,” Sam offered. They crossed the beach in silence, silhouetted against the sinking sun. Sam never would have called Toby himself, but he owed C.J. the world for doing it. 

“Don’t be afraid to fight back,” Toby said as he opened the car door. “He can’t walk over you if you just don’t let him.”

“I know.”

“You’re smarter, you’ve got more experience in the White House. Don’t let him forget that.”

“I know, Toby.”

“And, Sam?”

“Toby, I-”

“You’re the future of this country.” Toby’s tone had become surprisingly fond. “And my god, is the future bright.”


	13. Chapter 13

Even before he knocked on Sam’s hotel room door, Josh could feel the anxiety radiating away from it, like a Spidey-Sense that specifically detected Sam’s stress levels.

“Sam?” he asked, knocking gently. “You good, buddy?”

“Fine!” came the strangled call from inside.

“Can I come in?” The door swung open to reveal a pale, clammy shadow of Josh’s best friend. “Are you sick?” Sam shook his head.

“Nope. I’m fine. Except that I just puked.”

“You nervous?”

“Nervous? Why would I be nervous?” Josh was nervous, and he didn’t even have to be on stage this evening. 

“Well, you look like you died about ten years ago and someone exhumated your remains.”

“That’s about how I feel, actually.”

“Oh, boy.” Sam sat on the edge of the bed and let his face fall into his hands.

“This is a disaster, Josh. I’m not- I can’t- I-”

“Okay, Sam, breathe.” Josh knelt in front of Sam and searched for something to say. “Do you want a drink?”

“I think that might help.” 

“We’re going downstairs for a drink,” he told the secret service agent stationed outside Sam’s door. The agent nodded.

“Princeton and Lemon are on the move, I need a second-floor agent to clear the bar.”

“I- wait a minute, what’s my code name?” Josh sighed. He’d forgotten how tiring the secret service could be. “Sam, come on.” Sluggish, Sam followed him to the elevator and down to the hotel bar, which was empty all except for the bartender.

“Go ahead, sir,” said the agent who had swept the area.

“Thank you.” Sam couldn’t mask his sarcasm. He and Josh sat at the bar. 

“Scotch on the rocks.”

“Make mine a double.” Josh would have felt concerned, except Sam rarely drank, and there were still a few hours to the debate. “I’m surprised you’re so calm.” Josh shook his head.

“I’m not. I’m just better at hiding it than you are.”

“Are you worried about seeing Santos again?”

“Hey, I’m supposed to be making you feel better right now.”

“Josh.”

“It’s fine.” He shrugged and tapped his scotch against the bartop.

“You never told me how your resignation went.”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“You always worry me.”

“Remember how I reacted when you resigned?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Yeah. Sorry again about that, by the way.”

“Bygones.”

“It was about like that. Except, you know, ten times worse, because I got reamed out by the president in the Oval Office while Ronna listened in on the entire thing and then offered to help me back afterwards.”

“Oh, wow. So not good terms, then.”

“Not exactly, no.”

“You think tonight’ll be a disaster?”

“For you? No. For me?”

“Santos?”

“And Donna.” Josh winced as Sam slammed his glass down.

“What the hell happened with you and Donna?”

“I sort of may have taken the job without asking her.”

“You- oh, I could kill you.”

“I’m sorry! I messed everything up!”   
“Yeah, you did.”

“Well, I can’t really do anything about it now. And besides, I think Donna and I will be okay. I talked to her earlier this week, and she said she’d see me at the debate.”

“Well, at least one of us has a good feeling about tonight.” Josh smacked the back of his head.

“Stop that!”

“You really feel okay about everything?”

“I mean, I feel bad. I never imagined I’d just… pick up and leave like that.”

“Yeah. I get what you mean. You regret it?” Josh shrugged. He figured honesty was probably the best policy.

“Sometimes.”

“Look, Josh.” Sam spun on his stool so that they faced each other. “If you want to go back, do it now. I won’t be mad. I understand. It’s Donna and Santos and… well, I just won’t be mad. But this is your last chance. This is the last lifeboat off a sinking ship-”

“Sam-”

“No, let me finish. If you want to go, go. But you don’t have a choice after tonight.”

“Oh, Sam. I never did. I won’t go back, not now, not ever. I don’t even think I could if I wanted. But, very simply, I don’t want to. It’s you and me, man, and it always has been.” Josh checked his watch. “The cars will be here any minute, and C.J.’ll need a minute to talk to the press when we get there.” Sam tossed back the rest of his drink and smiled.

“Yeah, attaboy.”

“You really think I’ll be fine.”

“I think you’ll be fantastic. Just, uh, not with that tie.” Sam looked down at his tie, which was purple with little white polka dots.

“What’s wrong with my tie?”

“You’re already young and those polka dots make you look twenty. It’s a kid’s tie.” 

“I’ll go upstairs and change-” but Josh was already unwinding his own tie from around his neck.

“Solid maroon. It won’t do weird things on TV, and together with the blue coat, it makes you look patriotic without pandering. And-” Josh dug through his pockets and produced a tiny American flag pin. “-this is a gift from Jed Bartlet. It’s the same one he wore at his inauguration.”

“Your tie and his pin. You’re sure two good luck charms don’t cancel out?” Josh laughed, and Sam joined in, although neither was quite sure why the other was laughing.

“I’ve never put much faith in good luck. I put my faith in you.” He pinned the flag to Sam’s lapel. “You ready now?”

“Well, I don’t feel like I’m going to puke anymore.”

“I’ll take it.”

There wasn’t much more to be done before the debate, so Josh watched, feeling as helpless as he ever had, as Sam walked out onto the debate stage, wearing his smile like a shield. CJ was downstairs on spin duty, but there was only so much that could be done. Sam was either going to hold his own or he wouldn’t, and that would be the end of it. All Josh could do was wait backstage, in a dimly lit room with little more than a coffee machine and television.

“It’s starting?” He turned around to see Donna in the doorway. He hadn’t seen her much in these 6 months, except on TV and during his odd trip back to D.C. to collect things from his apartment. She had texted him to ask about the debate earlier in the week, and he was grateful she had been brave enough to make the first move back towards cohesion.

“Pretty soon.” Donna’s smile was dimmer than normal, but it was a smile. She poured herself a cup from the coffee machine, then thought twice.

“Do you want some?”

“Sure.” Something was happening on the TV, but Josh couldn’t tear his attention away from her. “Do you want to sit?”

“Sure.” They sat on the sofa, with a good foot and a half of negative space between them. Donna sat rigidly, like she might have to get up and go at any minute.

“Is the rest of your staff down in the press room?” She nodded.

“Yours?”

“C.J. is. Will and Charlie are still back at the hotel, I think.”

“Oh. And Amy?”

“With C.J.” Donna sipped her coffee. The moderator finished reading the rules, and Santos started with his opening statement. Josh wasn’t really listening. Instead, he watched Donna, who slowly began to sit further and further back. “How’s D.C.?” he asked.

“It’s okay.” She didn’t look at him, the technicolor glow of the TV reflected brilliantly in her blue eyes.

“Getting cold?”

“You know what it’s like in the fall. I imagine California’s still warm.” She may have relaxed, but her words were still stiff, inflexible.

“It is.” Sam was talking now, and Josh leaned forward just in time to hear him say a line about the timeline of exploration. 

_ “What’s next?”  _ he asked, the timbre of his voice altered just enough to unnerve Josh through the TV and send a chill down his spine.

“What is next?” Josh asked Donna, both of them still watching the TV without really watching at all.

“For us?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know.”

“I’d like there to be something. Something next.”

“I know. So do I.” Her hand rested on the cushion between them, and Josh slid his just far enough over that their pinkies touched. She didn’t make another move, and so neither did he, and that was where he stayed, frozen by her touch, until the debate ended nearly three hours later. His legs had long since fallen asleep, and he really had to sneeze, but it was a delicate balance, and he wouldn’t be the first to break it. At moments, he managed to pull his attention back to Sam, who had come through with a tenacity Josh had never seen from him before, and Santos, who seemed surprised at Sam’s ability to keep up. As the debate wound to a close, Josh and Donna looked at each other in mutual understanding. There had been no clear winner here tonight, between them or between Sam and the president. Even if there had been, it wouldn’t have been the end of the road. Josh wished maybe he could be a little less bullheaded, but it wasn’t going to happen tonight.

“I should get to the press room,” he said, wobbling slightly as the feeling rushed back into his legs.

“Josh?”

“Yeah?” Donna took a deep breath, hesitated, and let it out.

“Nothing. I’ll see you.”

“Donna?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you water my fern? It’s probably dead, but if not…” She smiled, a real smile.

“I’ll water your fern when I get back.” She drew a little ‘X’ over her heart. “Promise.”

“Thanks, Don.”   
“Don’t mention it.” She waved him off, and so he went, numb to the commotion he found in the press room with C.J. and Amy.

“I’m headed back to the hotel!” he shouted over the din of reporters scrambling to fill the blanks that the candidates had left. “If Sam… tell him he can meet me when he gets back! I’ll be up!” Amy nodded and dove back into the fray, leaving Josh on the outskirts to consider the individual wars being fought on the same battlefield. Who could possibly know who won when two soldiers on the battlefield went sword-to-sword? And beyond that, what consequences would the winner have to face for their victory?


	14. Chapter 14

After her weekend in California, C.J. found Iowa to be freezing, dark, and absolutely thrilling. She imagined that Iowa was never as busy as it was during the caucus, which meant it was never very busy at all. Almost every hotel in Des Moines was booked out, but she had a room along with the rest of the campaign, which probably made them the lucky ones. She wasn’t headed to the hotel, though, she was headed to the campaign’s Iowa headquarters. Sam and Will were putting the finishing touches on Sam’s two speeches- one for if they won, or even if it was close, and another, which C.J. suspected they were far more likely to give, if they lost miserably. Still the polls Joey had emailed her over the weekend looked better than anything she’d expected to see. They were down by a not insignificant amount of points, but they were up 3, and that was a big jump for a primary challenger following just one debate.

“Honey, I’m home!” C.J. called as she walked in the doors. There weren’t many people in today- everyone was out canvassing, polling, traveling across the state to try to score just a few more delegates. Will and Charlie looked up from where they were, hunched over a desk, scribbling furiously at a yellow legal pad.

“Hi, C.J.,” Charlie said.

“Hey. Focus.” Will snapped for Charlie’s attention. “C.J., we need your help with a few lines here.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” She draped her coat over a chair and scanned the legal pad. “This line about winning, we can change that for second place, right?”

“That’s the plan.” C.J. read some more.

“Blah blah blah, wealth inequality, blah blah blah, institutionalized discrimination, blah blah blah, healthcare… looks good, guys. Just throw in some thank yous at the end and you’re good to go.”

“You really think so?” Charlie asked eagerly.

“I really do.”

“He wrote it,” Will whispered so Charlie couldn’t hear.

“You did an incredible job, Charlie.” C.J. hugged him. It was awe-inspiring how far he’d come in the years she knew him, from someone who didn’t even have a college degree to a bar-certified lawyer writing speeches for the largest election in the United States. “Where’s Sam?”   
“In his office with Josh and Amy.”

“How is he?”

“Who knows?” 

He was mostly fine, as it turned out. Josh paced in front of the TV, while Amy tried her hardest to throw goldfish crackers into Sam’s mouth.

“You guys look like the hardest-working team in Washington,” she said dryly.

“We’re not in Washington, so,” Sam retorted with his mouth full of goldfish.

“How’s it going?” Josh just shrugged.

“Polls have us behind, but there’s still a lot of rural areas who haven’t been able to report yet. We just-”

“Don’t know. Got it.” C.J. sat on the edge of the desk and watched Josh pace for a few minutes. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a little high-strung?”

“Has anyone ever told you… shut up?” Josh laughed at his own lame comeback and visibly relaxed a little.

“Seriously. It’ll go how it’ll go.”

“I know that. But if it goes how it looks like it’s going to go-” Josh gestured helplessly at the TV. “-I’ll have been wrong. And I can never live down that level of wrongness.”

“You quit on Hoynes. In the middle of the primaries, you quit on Hoynes and you went with Bartlet because you knew he was the right guy. Isn’t that how it went?”

“Yeah.”

“And then you went and got Sam and Toby came and got me and we won a presidential election.”   
“Yep.”

“And then we won a second one.”

“C.J., what’s your point?”

“My point is that you’ve made the right call a dozen times before. I see no reason to think you didn’t make the right call this time too.” Standing up, she pulled him into a hug. “It’s going to go how it’ll go. If we win, it’s because of you, and if we don’t, that’s still because of you. Because even when the candidate wasn’t your best friend, you busted your ass and you won him that seat. You can do it again.”

“You really think so?” Josh asked, his voice muffled by C.J.’s sweater.

“I think you can do anything, Joshua, but not by holding onto me like a baby koala bear.” Josh sniffed and let her go.

“Are those the fat black-and-white ones?”

“Those are pandas. Josh, do you really not know what a koala bear is?”

“Why would I?”

“I-” C.J. possibly could have come up with some sort of biology lesson for Josh, but at that moment, someone yelled something unintelligible out in the bullpen. C.J. and Sam glanced at each other, and then booked it for the door.

“What happened?” Sam asked, and crossed the room to where Will stood with a group of windblown staffers who had clearly just come in.

“Tell them what you told me.” Will gently pushed one of the workers, a young woman who looked terrified to be speaking.

“We just got back from Estherville, in Emmet county.”

“And?”

“We don’t have the exact results yet, but-”

“What happened?” The women stammered, but didn’t seem to be able to get the words out, so Will stepped in.

“You swept, Sam. Emmet, Osceola, Winnebago, Floyd, and Hancock in the north, Van Buren, Montgomery, and Mills in the south. And those are just the counties we have results for.” Sam, his face white with disbelief, took the stack of papers Will held out and flipped through them, reading at an almost inhuman speed. “The news’ll have it in a minute-”

“We swept?” Amy asked, appearing in the doorway.

“It’s not enough to win, not yet, but at this rate-”

“It’ll be too close to call,” Sam finished, grinning. “Holy hell.”

“Where did this come from?” C.J. turned to Josh. “How could we possibly be killing Santos in rural districts?”

“Santos says he supports ethanol, but he really doesn’t. It was like pulling teeth trying to get him to come out in support during the campaign, and once he got into office, it was one of the first things to go. Sam says he supports ethanol, and he has Bartlet’s policy to back it up.”

“This is good for us.” It seemed obvious, but C.J. felt like someone should say it.

“This is- it’s miraculous, is what it is.” 

“You think it’s enough for Sam to win?” Josh shrugged and made a wishy-washy movement with his hand.

“Hard to say. I’m going to call Joey and see what she has to say, but at the very least, it means we’re closing the gap. Santos is more popular in urban districts so far, but there are fewer urban districts than there are rural. It’s anyone’s game now.” Anyone’s game. It felt like anyone’s game, but that was better than Santos’s game. The more control Santos lost over the board, the easier it would be for them to move forward, knight takes rook. It was an even match as the staff poured back in, bearing good news from rural precincts and less good news from urban precincts, and Sam and Josh and C.J. watched the results flash up on TV. The blue bar marking Santos’s progress, which had stretched so far ahead in the early hours of the caucus, was now neck and neck with Sam’s. When the caucus doors closed at 7, Sam held a one-point lead. When the final result rolled in at 9, Santos was back on top, but his 30-point lead had been reduced to 2. 2 points. 2 percent. 

“Congratulations.” Josh was the first to say it, squeezing his stunned friend’s shoulder in an iron grip. From looking at them, C.J. couldn’t tell who was more surprised. 

“Sam?” She shook his shoulder gently, and he started, as if asleep. “I think you have a speech to give.” Still smiling brilliantly, Sam took the final copy of the speech from Charlie and skimmed it.

“This is really great, Charlie.”

“Thanks. A lot.”

“We’ll be back in about an hour,” Josh said, steering Sam towards the door.

“You know what I think we need?” Amy asked once they were gone, yelling so her voice carried over the excitement.

“What?” She grinned wickedly, and C.J. found that she felt more like her old self than ever.

“A party.”


	15. Chapter 15

“It went well, right?” Sam asked as he left the stage, the roar of the crowd still ringing in his ears. Josh nodded and slung his arm around Sam’s neck.   
“It went great. And to celebrate, there’s a bottle of wine in my desk upstairs. We can swing by on the way back to the hotel.”

“Is that legal?”

“I have no idea.” One thing about the secret service: they were very efficient and getting Sam in and out of crowded areas. He wanted to be with his friends right now, more than anything for a last moment of peace before the primary season took off. 

“Sam!” It was indescribable, the way his heart leapt into his throat upon seeing them all gathered in his empty hotel room. A few lackluster balloons swung from a lamp, dangerously close to the lightbulb, and there was a haphazard CONGRATULATIONS sign made from Sharpie and yellow legal paper suspended over the window. It was the best surprise party he had ever seen.

“I didn’t win, you guys know that, right?” C.J. just laughed and kissed him on the cheek.

“It was two points that just as easily could have been yours. We’re celebrating.” In the back, Amy popped the cork out of a bottle of wine.

“Is that the one from my desk?”

“Yeah.”

“Amy-” While Josh and Amy bickered, Sam hugged Charlie, then Will, then Joey, who must have arrived while he was speaking. Josh gained control of the bottle somehow and passed out wine in paper cups from the coffee machine. 

“I’d like to say a few words, if I can,” Sam said, and to his pleasant surprise, his friends quieted. “When I first came up with this idea, I honestly didn’t believe we’d get here. It seemed… impossible. But putting a man on the moon also seemed impossible, until we did it. And like those brave men who were willing to take to the skies just for the chance of finding a new world and put a man in space, we all put the future before ourselves today. There isn’t one of us that didn’t sacrifice something to get here.” He noticed C.J. spin her wedding ring on her finger, and Josh tapped his phone in his front pocket. “There was a great risk taken today, and we took it, very simply because it was the next right thing to do. And I can’t-” His voice cracked and he smiled. “I can’t thank any of you enough. Will, Charlie, the talent between you two… it never fails to floor me. Josh and Amy, you may fight like cats and dogs, but I don’t know where I’d be without you two running this campaign. C.J., I know how much you had to give up just to be here, and it means everything to me, because you really are the best in the biz. And Joey-” She held up a hand to cut him off.

“That’s what I’m here for,” she said.

“We’re off to New Hampshire tomorrow, and from there I don’t know when we’ll all be together like this again, so let’s take tonight to be what we are- family. Sound like a plan?” Nods of agreement all around. “Good. Then what are we waiting for? Let’s have a party!” C.J. whooped in excitement. 

“Goddamnit,” Will said.

“What?”

“You’re still a better writer than me.” Sam shook his head.

“Not a chance.”

“So glad I thought to pack my speaker,” C.J. said proudly, ignoring the two of them. “Does anyone have a deck of cards?” To Sam’s surprise, Will reached into his pocket and produced a pack of playing cards. He winked, his brown eyes like pools of amber. “You just carry those around with you?” C.J. asked. Will shrugged. “Freak.”

“Who’s up for a game of blackjack?” Will asked, and began to pass the cards back and forth in his hands.

“Oh, hell no. You’ll kill me.” He just laughed.

“We’ll play for pennies.”

“I’ll play, Will,” Sam assured him. Josh glanced up at Sam from his seat on the sofa, then at Will, then back to Sam, raising his eyebrows.

“What?”

“You-? Ah, forget it. Amy? You in for blackjack?”

“You bet your ass.”

“You’d love it if I bet my ass, wouldn’t you?”

“Are you ever not vulgar?”

“Eh.” The four of them, plus Charlie and Joey, sat around the table. 

“I’m going to go call Danny. Deal me in when I get back, would you?”

“Sure, C.J.” With expert hands, Will shuffled the cards. “Ante up.”

“Anyone have a cigar?” Sam asked.   
“You still smoke?” Will asked. “I thought you were supposed to be the anti-tobacco governor.”

“You quit?”

“My stepmom was diagnosed with lung cancer last year. I cut down on the cigars after that. It’s a nasty habit anyway.” Sam looked between Will and Josh, who held out a box of cigars, and waved Josh off.

“I probably ought to quit anyway. Got to keep my lung capacity up for the amount of speaking I have to do.” For the second time that evening, Josh looked back and forth between Sam and Will, curious. Will didn’t seem to notice, and tossed out the first cards. Josh tossed a penny into the pot. Sam matched it. Charlie tossed down his cards.

“I’m out.”

“Already?” Joey asked, and tossed two pennies in. “I raise you one.” Amy tossed in a couple.

“Why the hell not?” Will threw in his change, and Sam and Josh matched Joey’s bet. 

“Hit me.” Sam took a card. He was up to 17 now, too close to 21 for his taste, but also too far for a solid win. Josh took a card and couldn’t hide his displeasure.

“I’m out,” he said, and tossed down his cards. Amy had the same issue with her poker face and looked like she’d just swallowed a lemon, but didn’t fold. Amy folded during the betting, and only Will, Sam, and Joey were left. Sam left it at 17- the risk was too high. He watched the folded players carefully. Amy had her arms folded and a rather surly look on her face. Charlie looked half-asleep. Josh was trying his hardest to finger-spell something in ASL, and although Sam’s skills were limited at best, he caught his own name, ‘W’, and ‘OVER’. Joey looked confused, and took another card. 

“I fold,” she said, and dropped her cards.

“Just you and me, then,” Will said.

“All in.” Sam tossed his entire roll of pennies into the pot. Will glanced at him, then down at his cards, and frowned. 

“I’ll call,” he said, and put his in too.

“I stand.” Sam covered his cards. He was sticking to his 17. All it was was pennies. This was a competition with no stakes, maybe his last for awhile. Pennies and time were the only things he had to lose anymore. Although, looking at Will, Sam would be willing to put a little more at risk.

“I hit.” Will took a card and grimaced. “That puts me over. I fold.” Sam smirked and pulled the pile of pennies towards himself.

“I thought you were supposed to be great at poker.”

“So did I.” Will shrugged. “Happens to the best of us.” He pushed his chair back from the table. “I’m exhausted. I’ll see you all bright and early to head to New Hampshire tomorrow.” He waved and started towards the door. Sam looked down at his 17 and the pile of pennies, and then at the door. 

“Charlie, take these,” he said, and shoved the change away from himself.

“Huh?” Charlie shook his head, still on the verge of falling asleep. Sam ignored this and reached across the table to where Will’s cards still rested face-down. He flipped them over. A perfect 21. 

“Will! Wait up!” 

Will was waiting for the elevator when Sam caught up to him.

“Going down?” His smile rested somewhere between angelic and devilish. 

“Why’d you throw the game?” Sam asked, ignoring the question.   
“That was a joke, Sam.”

“Why’d you throw the game?” 

“I didn’t.”

“I looked at your cards.”

“That’s poor poker etiquette.”

“So’s lying about winning. Why’d you throw the game?” The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Will got on and Sam followed him.

“I’m going to bed, Sam.”

“Answer the question.”

“You deserved to win today.” Leaning against the wall, Will undid his tie and looped it over his neck, almost reminiscent of the way he’d been wearing his bow tie the first time they had met.

“We’re not talking about poker anymore.”

“No. We’re not. You deserved to win today and the way I see it, the reason you didn’t is because I couldn’t do enough for you. I’m a pretty good writer, but my head was clouded and I wasn’t on my game. The speeches you gave to the caucuses-”

“Were some of the best speeches I’ve ever seen.”

“-weren’t my best. I owed you a win today. That’s all.” They hit the third floor, where their rooms were, and the doors opened.

“Will, do you honestly believe there’s anything you could’ve done to make me beat Santos? He’s the sitting president. I didn’t have a doubt in my mind he would win today. But the fact that he only won by two points? You did that. You.”

“And Charlie and Josh and Amy and Joey and about a thousand other people.”

“Well, sure.” Sam jogged to get ahead of Will as they walked and turned so he was walking backwards, facing Will. “But when I win, it will be your words that I speak to the American people, and it will have been your words that put me there.”

“See? There it is again. You’re not even trying, and you’re a better writer than I am.”   
“What is it going to take for you to stop saying that?”

“All of those pennies you won earlier.”

“I gave ‘em to Charlie.”

“Damnit. Then… buy me breakfast tomorrow, and I’ll shut up forever about how talented you are and how much of an inspiration you’ve been in my writing.”

“Wait, really?”

“The first part. Not the second part so much.”

“I’ll take it. Deal. Breakfast.” They walked side-by-side now through what seemed like an endless maze of hallways. Sam shoved his hands deep in his pockets and tried to make conversation. “So you just carry playing cards with you everywhere? I mean, I know you’re kind of a poker god, but that’s something else.”

“Actually, can I tell you a slightly embarrassing secret?”

“I’m all ears.”

“When I was in high school, I was really into a guy, and he was really into magic, so I learned how to do every card trick in the book, and I carried a deck of cards around with me everywhere just in case he brought it up. It’s just sort of habit now.” Will flushed all the way from his neck to his ears. Sam occasionally found shyness grating, but with Will, his bashfulness could only endear Sam more. At long last, they reached Will’s room, but stopped outside the door.

“Did he like it?”

“My magic?”

“Yeah.”

“Everyone likes magic.” 

“Can you show me a trick?”

“Sure.” Will produced the deck and shuffled it deftly. He spread the cards out in his hands. “Pick a card, any card.” Sam pulled a card out of the middle of the deck. “Look at it, don’t tell me what it is.” The king of hearts. Sam felt his heart skip a beat. Oh, irony.

“What do I do now?”

“Put it back in.” Sam obliged. “Okay, now wave your hands over it and say the magic word.”

“Will, I-”   
“Do it, or the trick won’t work.” An earnest smile spread across Will’s face.

“Fine.” Sam waved his hands over the cards. “Abracadabra.”

“Actually, the magic word was ‘flibbertigibbet’, but I’ll let it slide.” Will flipped over the top card. “Is this your card?” It was the ace of spades.

“Nope.” He looked down at the deck, disappointed, and shuffled through it a few times.

“Okay, okay. How about…” he reached up into the air by Sam’s head, and Sam found his breath stuck in his throat as Will’s fingers brushed his cheek.

“Will…”

“Is this your card?” Will pulled his hand back, and between his fingers was the king of hearts. Sam found himself unable to answer. There were too many thoughts racing through his head, like cars on a freeway, and fastest, the brightest, the most dangerous, was Will, and how nice he looked with his hair messy and his tie hanging loosely around his neck. 

“What? Did I get it wrong?”

“Not at all,” Sam finally managed to say, and kissed Will. Will, who hadn’t been expecting it in the slightest, stumbled backwards, and the cards fell from his hand, fanning out on the floor. Frankly, Sam couldn’t bring himself to care, because he had Will’s face in his hands and his eyes squeezed shut in defiance of reality, and then Will’s arms were around his waist and Sam was backed against the wall.

“Do you think maybe we should go inside before the secret service catches us?” Will asked, pulling away for only a moment. When he realized what he had said, his eyes widened. “I mean, do you want to come inside? Or you could, um-” Sam silenced him with another kiss.

“I really think we should go inside.” Red-faced and positively glowing, Will fumbled in his pockets for the room key while Sam watched him, out of breath himself, but feeling for the first time in the campaign like maybe it wouldn’t matter quite so much if he lost. Like maybe, just maybe, he might have found something worth losing for. 


	16. Chapter 16

Josh was used to being the last one up. C.J. hadn’t come back after she left to call Danny, which didn’t surprise him. The more time she spent talking to him, the better he felt about dragging her out of California. Will had abandoned them after the poker game, and took Sam along with him- he didn’t know what that was about- and then Joey left, and Amy followed her- he  _ really  _ didn’t know what that was about- and Charlie woke up from his midnight nap to go upstairs, and Josh was all by himself in the empty hotel room.

“Aren’t you a sad sight?” A shadow darkened the doorway.

“Donna? What are you doing here?” She grinned.

“I was in the neighborhood. Figured I’d come by and congratulate you.” Without thinking, Josh stood up and hugged her. It had been a long time since they had been like this, fitting comfortably into each other’s arms.

“You deserve the congratulations. You won.”

“I didn’t win. Sam’s replacement- well, technically your replacement now, did that.” Josh winced, but Donna didn’t seem to hold any resentment in her words.

“Either way.” He stepped back from her, and that was when she kissed him.  _ She  _ kissed  _ him.  _ Honestly, figuring out women had never been Josh’s strong suit. That was why most of his relationships failed. He just… didn’t get it. Any of it. It was like he had missed the day of class when everyone else learned how to have a functional relationship. Still, if dysfunction meant kisses like these, where everything that had been built up for nearly a year came crashing back, like the tide rushing over them and sweeping them back out to sea.

“Shut the door,” she murmured, still holding onto his collar like he was the last lifeboat off a sinking ship.

“Donna, shouldn’t we-”

“Shut. The. Door.” 

“This is Sam’s room-”

“Sam’s been gone for hours.” Josh wanted to talk. He really did. Except there was also the fact of the matter, which was that he hadn’t gotten laid in almost a year. The thread their relationship hung by had remained intact for so long, and at this moment, as Donna let her hair down from the ponytail and tore her shirt over her head, Josh would have gotten on his knees and praised God. Except then Donna pulled his hair, and God was the last thing on his mind.

“That was fun.”

“Are you usually this articulate post-coitus?” Josh ignored this and stroked her arm gently with his thumb.

“I missed you.”   
“Yeah,” Donna said, and kissed his bare chest. “I missed you too.”

“I didn’t know if we would make it this year,” Josh said. “I haven’t been worried about that since-”

“-the first year. I know.” Under the sheets, their legs tangled so that he couldn’t tell where his met hers. “We made it, Josh. This far, anyway.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say that, like you don’t think we’ll make it…”

“What? Forever?” Donna laughed, but it wasn’t out of humor. “We could make it forever, Josh, or we could make it another week and call it quits. Do you know that? There’s nothing in the future, Josh, I think we learned that tonight. You love your calculations and your polls and your predictions so much, but we both know that doesn’t matter.”

“You want a beer?” Donna flinched.

“What?”

“Do you want a beer? The minifridge beers are ridiculously expensive, but-”

“Sure.” Josh climbed out of bed and put his pants on as he walked. He tossed a can to where Donna lay still in bed, and they cracked them open and drank silently. “I probably shouldn’t be drinking. I have to go in-” she looked over at the alarm clock, which spilled light into the dark room. “-a half hour.”

“Only 30 minutes? You’re leaving at three in the morning?”

“We have to be in New Hampshire early, Josh.”

“I know.”

“I’d stay, but-”

“I know.” Josh found he couldn’t seem to do much else except repeat himself. “Who’s watering my plants?”

“No one. They’re probably dead.”

“Oh. That sucks.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“I told you I’d water them.”

“You’re here. I’d rather have you than my plants.”

“Wow. You really have a way with words. I’m surprised Sam didn’t make you his communications director.”

“Shut up,” Josh said, and kissed her. 

“I have to go.” Still clutching the sheet to her chest, Donna slid out of bed and found her clothes where they were scattered on the floor. She stepped into the bathroom, leaving her silhouetted in the fluorescent light that all hotel bathrooms seemed to have. Once she was dressed, she put her hair back up, and downed the rest of her beer. Without saying a word, she kissed Josh one last time, her fingertips lingering painfully on his neck, and left. Josh checked his phone. They had to leave in only an hour. Sam wasn’t back yet, which was strange, but it may have been worse for him to discover Josh and Donna together. Too many questions would be raised, questions Josh wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to answer after that cryptic conversation with Donna. 

“Fuck you,” he said aloud to no one in particular, and rolled out of bed. Once he was dressed, he left, and wandered, not quite ready to head back to the freezing, still-made bed in his own room. He’d make sure everyone else was up. That seemed like a good enough plan until he figured out what the hell he was supposed to do next. He might have called Jed, except he’d still be asleep, and he might have called Leo, except.

Except.

Will’s room was on the same floor as Josh’s, and so Josh decided that Will would be his first wake-up call. The floor outside his door was covered in playing cards, for some reason, scattered everywhere across the ugly carpet. Josh stepped over them to knock.

“Will? Will, come on. It’s time to get up, man.” There was the sound of something heavy falling on the floor, and a loud grunt.

“Coming!” Will called. The door opened a minute later, and Will, looking as exhausted as Josh had ever seen him, appeared through the crack in the door. His hair stood out at odd angles, and his glasses sat haphazardly on the bridge of his nose. “What’s up?”

“Are you okay?” Will flushed a brilliant scarlet.

“I’m… fantastic.”

“Okay. ‘Cause you look a little tired. Did you not get to sleep?”

“I- no. Insomnia.” Something thumped loudly. Will swiveled to look at something behind him, and then back to Josh.

“What was that?”

“Just… my suitcase. I was in the middle of packing. It must have fallen over.”

“Okay.”

“Listen, Josh, I still have some packing to do, so-”

“Hey, have you seen Sam?” Will choked on thin air and began to cough violently, his face growing redder by the minute.

“I- well- um- no. Nope. Uh-uh. Why do you- why do you ask?”

“...no reason. You know there’s a bunch of playing cards out here, right? I think you must have dropped them. Anyway. Go back to… packing.”

“Will do.” Before Josh could even give a “see you later”, Will slammed the door shut.

“Oh… kay.” He woke up Charlie next door to Will, then Kenny, who went to find Joey. Amy’s room was empty. Apparently everyone spent the night somewhere other than their own room. Josh realized as he headed back to his own room that he hadn’t asked Donna the one thing he’d wanted to. He dialed, his muscle memory intact, and prayed she wasn’t on the plane yet.

“Josh?” She picked up halfway through the third ring.

“Donna.”

“What?”

“Am I going to see you? In New Hampshire?” There was silence, and he thought maybe she’d hung up.

“Yes. I’ll see you in New Hampshire.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going now.”

“I love you,” he said, but the dial tone was already ringing in his ears.

“You ready to go?” Sam appeared behind him suddenly, holding out Josh’s black Jansport backpack. “You left this in my room.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“So. What’s next?”

“New Hampshire,” Josh said, and his worries about Donna faded, replaced with a memory of a rainy day in New York, before Donna, before any of this. Just a stupid, impulsive boy of a man, who wouldn’t go anywhere without his best friend. Looking over at Sam, he smiled. His impulses had been right before, and goddamnit if they weren’t right now.


	17. Chapter 17

The sky was already mostly dark when Sam’s town car pulled into the leaf-strewn driveway at the farm. The lights were on, which was a good sign. He hadn’t been able to call first, so this was a surprise visit. A pair of secret service agents walked with him to the door, one in front, one behind. That was how Sam went everywhere now, security in front and behind. 

“Can I-?” The agent in front stepped aside so Sam could knock on the door. It was odd how much he remembered moments just like this, standing outside the Oval Office, waiting to be invited in.

“Jed? Were we supposed to have- Sam!” Abbey didn’t notice him until the door was already open.

“Sam’s here?” Jed said from somewhere inside.

“Sorry to just drop by, but I was in the area-”

“Come inside!” Sam stood back.

“Ma’am, we just need to sweep the area.” One of the agents slipped past Abbey, who just rolled her eyes. He returned a few minutes later. “All clear.” Sam stepped inside, leaving the agents on the porch. 

“Hi, Dr. Bartlet.” He leaned down to hug her.

“Hello, Sam. Jed, look who’s here.” Sam turned to see the former president standing in the doorway, wearing a Notre Dame sweatshirt and munching on an apple.

“Sam! To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Well, sir, I was in the area.”

“Of course.”

“And-” Sam opened his backpack (after years and years of hearing about the benefits of using a backpack rather than a briefcase from Josh, he’d finally given in and bought one) and pulled out a chessboard. “-I thought maybe we could play.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” Abbey said. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me. Jed, get Sam some cake.”

“Oh, no, ma’am-”

“Sam, take the cake.”

“I- sure.” Sam followed Jed into the kitchen. “How have you been, sir?” Jed snorted.

“Me? I’m fine. You, on the other hand- here-” he cut Sam a slice of cake. “-you just got second place in the Iowa caucus. All the polls have you only a few points down. And besides that, you’re running for president, and now you’re here on the night before the New Hampshire primary. That’s hard enough. How are you?” Sam thought back to the thrill of almost winning the caucus, to kissing Will, to nearly being caught in Will’s room by Josh.

“I’m… complicated.”

“Yeah. That sounds about right. We can set up the board in the living room.” In the living room, the enormous fireplace was lit, sweeping the room in an eerie orange glow. Sam set the board on the coffee table and pulled out the box of pieces. He palmed a white piece and a black piece and held them out, fists closed. Jed considered briefly and tapped Sam’s left hand. Black. Sam lay out the pieces and moved his first pawn.

“The English Opening. An excellent choice.” Sam shrugged.

“I’ve played a lot more chess since the last time you and I went toe-to-toe.”

“The last time you and I played, I told you that you’d run for president one day.”

“You’re practically clairvoyant.”

“No. Just smart.” Jed moved his piece. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more sure of anything than I was sure you’d run.”

“Are you glad I’m running against Santos?” Sam moved, hardly looking at the pieces. During his campaign for governor, he had played at the Los Angeles Chess Club once a week. 

“I probably shouldn’t answer that.”

“Just between you and me.”

“You means you and Josh, and that means you and Josh and C.J., and that means you and Josh and C.J. and every press outlet in the United States and quite a few outside.”

“No, sir. It means you and me.” Jed picked up a piece and moved it.

“Then, yes. I am. I think it was fairly obvious I never thought Santos was the best choice, and if I’d been able to, I’d have called you into the Oval and reamed you out for letting him run when both of us knew it should have been you.” Sam didn’t respond, and for a while, the only sound was the crackling fire and the sound of pieces moving on the board.

“Check,” Sam said at last, and Jed looked down to find his king in mortal peril. He adjusted accordingly. “Do you think I’ll win?”

“That depends.”

“On? Check.”

“On whether you look at the entire board.”

“I’m not talking about chess, I’m talking about-“

“I know what you’re talking about. Look at the whole board, Sam.” Jed once again evaded Sam’s check. “Your king? That’s you. The whole thing hinges upon whether you stay in the game. Your queen? That’s Josh. He has a lot more mobility than you do. He’s the most powerful player. Will and Charlie are your rooks—they can move with you or independently from you, and in the end, they’re what’s going to help you win or lose.” Sam swallowed, wincing. Jed couldn’t know about Will, that wasn’t what he was talking about, and yet Will currently held the fate of the election in his hands, not through any fault or intention of his own, but simply because he liked Sam just as much as Sam liked him. “C.J.’s your bishop. She doesn’t have as much access as the rest of your pieces, but she’s going to be one of your best defenders. Amy’s your knight. A lot of the rules and restrictions you and Josh have to put up with don’t apply to her. She’s your man- well, woman- on the ground. When you get boxed in, she’s going to find you a way out. And then your pawns, that’s your low-level staffers. Over time, they become less and less important, except to protect you. It all comes back to keeping you on the board.”

“What do you mean by that, sir? Check.”

“I mean that you can’t let yourself be distracted. By anything. You don’t have M.S., so it’s probably a little easier for you than me, but you’ve got problems of your own that I presumably don’t know anything about.” Sam laughed bitterly.

“If you only knew.”

“I don’t, and I don’t need to. You’re the one playing the game, you’re the one who needs to be able to see the whole board.” 

“How do I do that?” Jed picked up his piece and moved it.

“Listen to what your pieces are telling you. Look.” Sam looked down at the board. “I’ve got you in check now. How do you get out?”

“Um… damn it, I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Look at the whole board. Use the pieces you have.” Sam shifted his king out of the way.

“You’re just going to move after it again. It's an eternal cat and mouse. You have me in check, I get out, and we do it all over again.”

“Not true. All you have to do is get me back.” Jed moved his piece, once again putting Sam’s king in peril. “Check.” Without thinking, Sam moved again.

“Check.” Jed shook his head.

“No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no?’ I have your king in check.”

“Yes, you do. And I can’t get out. That’s not check, it’s-”

“-checkmate.”

“There you go.” Jed knocked down his own king and watched as it rolled off the board and landed softly on the carpet.

“So. What does it all mean?”

“You tell me.”

“I’m trying.”

“No, you’re not. What does it mean?”

“I…” Jed sighed and started to speak, but Sam held up a hand. “Wait. I want to see if I can get it on my own.”

“Okay.”

“Santos will win New Hampshire, probably by a larger margin than Iowa. But I can’t drop out, because I’ll win Nevada and South Carolina. Super Tuesday… I don’t know. Midwesterners don’t particularly know or like either of us, so it comes down to values, probably agriculture, just like it did in Iowa, except instead of corn it’ll be soybeans, dairy, and beef.”

“And?”

“And…” Finally, it dawned on Sam, what he had been missing. “It all comes down to an understanding by the American people that elected office doesn’t equal experience. Santos might have more years of electoral service on me, but he’s never been appointed. Election relies on charisma. Appointment relies on talent. All I have to do is prove that I’m better qualified.”

“You got it.” Sam swept the pieces back into the box and replaced the box and the board into his backpack.

“I think… I think this was helpful, sir.”   
“You don’t have to keep calling me sir, Sam.”

“I’d like to. Sir.” Jed just laughed.

“You’ve got to stop laying down for people, Sam. When you’re the president, it’s everyone else’s job to get out of your way. You have to start acting like it before you start to come across as weak, or passive, because I know you’re neither of those things. Calm and composed doesn’t equate to weakness so long as you’re holding your ground.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Alright.” Sam hugged the former president, and suddenly missed his own father, who he hadn’t really seen in… it must have been 6 years. “Say hello to everyone for me.”

“Yes, sir.” Sam stepped back out onto the cold porch and shook out the tension in his shoulders, watching his breath freeze and float away. “Okay,” he told the agents, who hadn’t moved an inch. “Let’s go.”

The New Hampshire headquarters were as busy as could be expected the night before the primary. Sam muscled his way back to Josh’s office, where the senior staff was already meeting.

“Hey!” C.J. was the first to notice his appearance. “How are they?”

“Good.”

“Did you get whatever advice you needed?” Sam nodded. C.J. turned back to consulting with Josh, and Sam approached Charlie, who leaned against the far wall.

“Hey, Charlie.”

“Hi.”

“You doing okay?” Shrugging, Charlie rolled his eyes.

“Yes. Mostly. I just… Zoey and I have only been married a year. Next week’s our anniversary, and I’m going to be here. And she’s not mad, I just… it sucks, you know?” Sam nodded.

“I know. You know, you can go just for the day or something. Will can deal with whatever comes up.”

“Will’s not here.” Sam looked around, and for the first time, noticed Charlie was right.

“Where is he?”

“Oregon. A storm hit the coast out of nowhere. It’s not completely disastrous, we don’t have to go out there, at least not yet, but Will had to go put out some fires.”

“Oh.” He was surprisingly disappointed. He and Will hadn’t really spoken since Iowa, not about what happened, at least, and while Sam wasn’t necessarily in the mood for a conversation, he could have been up for a reprise. Will was in Oregon, though, and that meant neither. Sam forced a yawn. “I’m exhausted, guys, do you mind if I go to bed?” Without stopping their conversation, both Josh and C.J. waved him off. 

“Do you guys mind if we walk back to the hotel?” he asked his agents. They exchanged a glance, but shrugged.

“Give us a minute to call a few more agents down.” As Sam sat and waited, he overheard their conversation.

“Bartlet always wanted to walk outside too,” one muttered.

“It’s frickin’ freezing,” the other replied. Sam took an odd comfort in knowing that there were more similarities between himself and Jed than between himself and Santos. Toby had been right when he said they were three sides of the same die, but there were enough differences that Sam wouldn’t fail in the same ways that they had. He wouldn’t struggle with honesty in the same way that Bartlet had, nor would he struggle with dedication in the same way that Santos was now. He would find his own failures, to be sure, he was by no means perfect, but they would be failures unique to him and his presidency, and that was important. History repeats itself, consciously or unconsciously, but Sam believed in progress, in moving forward, in endless American idealism. 

As he stepped out onto the street, surrounded by his substantial protection detail, snow began to drift down over their heads, like stars fluttering out of the sky. Like putting a man on the moon, an election like this would take a near-revolution, but just as sure as Sam had been that Bartlet was the real thing, so was he sure that he was too, and if he could prove it, the election was as good as won.


	18. Chapter 18

“Um, C.J.?” C.J. looked up from her desk to see her assistant, who she was pretty sure was named Tyler, in the doorway.

“Yeah?” She pushed her hair out of her face. In the last few weeks, she’d given up on straightening it and let it go curly again.

“There’s someone here to see you. A man and a baby.”

“A man and a- wait, red hair, suspenders, looks like a young Santa Claus?”

“That’s… surprisingly accurate, yes.”

C.J. pushed past Tyler out into the main bullpen. She didn’t see him at first, but then she turned and saw him sitting against the wall, bent over A.J.’s stroller, muttering incoherent baby-talk. He looked up as she approached.

“Danny! You’re here!” She stopped. “Why?”

“What, I don’t get a ‘hello’? No ‘I love you’?”

“Sorry. Hello. I love you.” He stood up and kissed her hello.

“Hi, peanut.” C.J. peered in at A.J., somehow napping despite the chaos around her. “What are you doing here?” she asked, turning back to Danny.

“I don’t know. We haven’t seen you in awhile. I know you’re busy, but this is the first time you’ve been in the state in awhile, so I thought we’d come see you.” It was the weekend before Super Tuesday, which meant that she had never been busier, but it was Danny. Even in the first days of the Bartlet campaign, she always made time for him. 

“I’m… let me see if there’s much more I need to do today. I think I can probably find someone to cover.”

“Don’t worry, Claudia. A.J. and I can wait.”

“ _ C.J.!”  _ Across the room, Josh’s head bobbed above the sea of people. “ _ IS THAT MY GODCHILD THAT I SEE?!”  _

“Josh can keep you company while I wrap up.” Josh appeared and picked up A.J., nestling her into his surprisingly large arms.

“Come on, Abbey, time to learn about gerrymandering.” He smiled gently down at her, then turned back to the gathered campaign staff. “Joey!” he hollered into the crowd. “I’m going to kill whoever redistricted Michigan!”

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t corrupt our child,” Danny said, and followed Josh and A.J. into the fray. C.J. searched for Will, and found him in Sam’s empty office, poring over a speech.

“Will?”

“Hm?” He turned a page with ink-stained fingers, not looking up.

“Danny’s in town, and-”

“Danny’s here?” It was almost surprising, the excitement in his voice, but C.J. remembered overhearing Will tell someone at their wedding that Danny was his first real friend in the White House.

“Yeah, and I need someone to cover me for the day, if that’s alright.”   
“Yeah. Okay. You’ve got a baby, go spend time with her. Charlie can wrangle the press. And I-” Will tossed his paper aside and stood up, stretching. “I’m going to hang out with Danny and my favorite baby.”

“Your favorite- do you know more than one baby?”

“I do not.” Will left, passing Sam on his way out.

“Hi, C.J.” Sam flopped into his desk chair and sighed. His cheek was dotted with inky fingerprints.

“Uh, Sam? You’ve got some ink on your face.” He rubbed his cheek haphazardly, but only served to smudge the ink further.

“I’ll get it later.”

“You doing okay?”

“I didn’t really sleep last night.” As if to prove his point, he yawned.

“You need sleep, Sam.”

“I need to win Super Tuesday.”

“Well. Danny’s here, and he brought A.J.-”   
“A.J.’s here?” Sam perked up a bit. “My favorite pseudo-niece.”

“She’s with Josh and Will. Anyway, I know we’re loaded with stuff, but I’d really like to take a couple hours and-”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Sam was already up and moving back towards the door.

“I just have a couple things to wrap up and-”

“C.J. You’re fine. I’m going to go say hello to your daughter.”

“Sam. You’ve still got ink on your face.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He left C.J. in his office. 

She wrote out what Charlie needed for the day as best she could, and then went to look for Danny. He was surrounded by her friends, Josh and Will and Sam and Amy and Joey and Charlie. Amy had A.J. in her arms, and although C.J. had never seen Amy coo before, she was positively cooing.

“You’re still teaching?” Joey signed.

“Yep. Four classes a day at UCLA. Teaching and hanging out with my best girl.” Amy passed A.J. back to Danny. “That’s my life, and it’s not half bad. Charlie? When you and Zoey finally get settled back down, you having kids?” Charlie shrugged.

“I don’t know how much fun it would be having a baby and being the president’s deputy communications director.”

“Well. If you don’t win, then.” Everyone went quiet momentarily. 

“D? You ready to go?” C.J. asked and put on her coat.

“For sure. Okay, everyone say goodbye to A.J.” Josh and Sam each squeezed on of her tiny hands, and C.J. felt like melting into a puddle. Most of her friends hadn’t seen A.J. since her christening, if then, but they adopted her anyway, and they loved her for the sole reason that she was C.J.’s kid. There was a chorus of goodbyes as they left, and when Danny slipped his hand into C.J.’s, she found that it fit the same way it always had. 

They ate lunch at a diner on the corner, and Danny told her about his Journalistic Ethics class and how A.J. had added the words “dinner”, “president”, and “Pulitzer” to her tiny baby vocabulary (she pronounced the latter like “Puwhizzer”, which made C.J. laugh). C.J. told him about the new Washington Post White House reporter who spelled Bartlet with two Ts and got reamed out by his own editor in the middle of a press conference and how she’d won every game of pickup basketball they had played, even the one where Sam sat on Josh’s shoulders the entire time. It was quiet and peaceful and reminiscent of the days before the campaign, just the three of them on the Santa Monica boardwalk, no worries that the floor might fall out from under them.

“I should go back,” she said when at last their time ran out.

“I know.” And that was the beautiful thing, wasn’t it. He did know, just as he knew she would come home at the end of the proverbial day. “Can I walk you back?”

“Of course.” The sun was already beginning to set as they started their walk back, taking their time. “I think everyone was happy to see A.J.”

“Of course they were. She’s adorable.”

“It means a lot that they all love her so much, you know?”

“I do know. They’re your family. They’re her family.”

“I missed them. So much. Like, I didn’t even realize how much until I came back.”

“C.J.” Danny stopped cold on the sidewalk. “If you want to stay after the campaign is over, tell me.”

“I don’t.” C.J. reassured him. “I just miss my family is all.”

“Good, because I need you to come home to me.”

“I always will.” His arm slipped comfortably around her waist as she pushed the stroller, and C.J. thought about how they never could have done this when they were in D.C. They never could just… be together, comfortable, not looking around every corner for an intern who would tell their boss who would tell the entire United States federal government that the president’s press secretary was seen walking around with Danny Concannon’s arm around her waist. 

He kissed her goodbye in the doorway, and she braced herself for chaos as she entered. Instead, she found dead silence. Everyone, literally everyone, stared up at the tiny TV that hung in one corner.

“Josh? What’s-” Silently, Josh raised a finger to silence her, and then pointed at the TV. C.J. turned to watch. Onscreen, there was a stage and a podium with a blonde woman standing behind it. The wind whipped her hair so that it covered her face and C.J. couldn’t tell who she was or what she was doing. Then she heard the voice, that unmistakable twang, slightly distorted by microphones and TV speakers, and the wind died down so that C.J. just caught sight of her face.

“Ainsley?” Her lips formed the name, but no sound left her mouth. The White-House- assistant-counsel-turned-White-House-counsel-turned-senator-to-North-Carolina cleared her throat, looking no older than she had when C.J. last saw her, still with that same brilliant Southern Belle smile.

“...and that is why I’m here today to announce my candidacy for President of the United States.” 

“Holy-”

“-shit.” Josh finished C.J.’s sentence.

“Sam? What do we do now?” Charlie spoke up. Sam opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t, so Josh spoke for him.

“Now, we don’t worry about her, and we go out there and win Super Tuesday!” He pumped his fist in the air, and was met with cheers and applause. “So, um, if everyone could get back to work, that would be excellent.” As he turned back to C.J., his nervous eyes betrayed him.

“Is that really it?” she asked, lowering her voice to carry under the chatter around them. “We just… get back to work?” Josh shrugged.

“What else is there to do?”


	19. Chapter 19

Sam sat up in bed, inhaling sharply as the freezing air hit his bare arms. The hotel room was pitch-dark except for the sliver of light coming through the curtains. Sam checked his watch in the narrow stream. 4:12. Across the country, the east coast polls had just opened. Super Tuesday, the one day that decided his fate in this election, had begun. There hadn’t been as much discussion of what would happen if he lost as he might have liked, but it seemed to him like none of them were even considering that outcome. After today, though, it would be one of them, Sam or Santos. It seemed an odd idea, to push as hard as the Seaborn campaign was pushing now, only to have the rug swept out from under them in just a day. There was only so much good that the several thousand ‘Seaborn: This is What’s Next’ signs they had sold could do.

“Sam?” Someone tugged at the hem of his shirt, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. 

“I forgot you were there.” Will snorted and sat up.

“Because that’s what you want to hear.”

“Sorry. I’m just distracted.”

“I know.” Sam couldn’t really see Will’s face, but got the sense that he was smiling. Will reached over and turned on the lamp. He put on his own glasses and passed Sam’s to him. “Good morning,” he said, and ran a hand through his messy hair.

“Morning,” Sam replied, and pulled him in for a kiss. In the month since Iowa, there had been almost a dozen nights (well, technically mornings) like this. It was surprising how easy it was, but Sam’s secret service detail was tiny and let him move autonomously through the hotel. When it came to the staff, though, it was nothing short of a miracle that no one had caught them yet. There had been the first close call with Josh, then one or two more after that, but for the most part, Will was back in his room before the sun could even think about rising.

“You ready for today?” Will asked, snapping Sam from his thoughts. Sam shrugged, yawned, and fell backwards, letting his head roll into Will’s lap. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“It’s not a no, it’s just… there’s a really good chance it all ends today. But there’s also a small chance we get launched into the forefront of this race.” As he spoke, Will absentmindedly ran his fingers through Sam’s hair. “I honestly never really thought we’d get any traction.”

“I did.”

“Really? You thought we’d have a shot at beating the incumbent president for the nomination?”

“Yep.”

“Liar.” Sam looked at his watch again. “I should go. Joey’ll be up to my room with polling results any minute.”

“Yeah.” Will’s smile faded substantially, and he pushed his glasses up, averting his eyes. “You said that last time too, only then it was Amy with the projections. And before that, it was Josh with the updated 50-state plan.” Sam pushed himself up so that he sat side-by-side with Will. He tried to keep his hands steady in his lap, but the nervous energy was too much for him to stop fidgeting.  
“I… what’s your point, Will?”

“What happens if someone finds out, Sam? What happens if it gets leaked to the press?”

“No one would-”

“You’re a presidential candidate sleeping with his communications director. Josh and Joey and Amy might not leak it, but they aren’t the only people working on this campaign. There are a lot more people with a lot less loyalty to you. There’s a slogan they came up with for these English propaganda posters during World War II. _‘Loose lips sink ships.’_ ”

“This isn’t a World War-”

“No, it’s a presidential campaign. If you were running for Congress, or maybe even governor, this would be a different conversation, but this is the presidency we’re talking about. You said it. It took an incredible amount of work just to get us here. Is it worth it to risk the whole thing just for a few nights of fun?”

“Well, it _is_ like I said. There’s a decent chance it all ends here. Today. And then we all go home and it doesn’t matter at all. But, Will-” Sam lifted Will’s chin gently. “-I’m not giving you up. Not until hell freezes over.”

“Well, when you put it like that-” Will opted to end his sentence with a kiss. “You really should go.”

“Yes, I should. Do you have any idea where my pants are?” Sam found his pants at the foot of the bed and pulled them on.

“Charlie and I still have to finish the last draft of your speech, so I won’t see you until tonight.”

“Unfortunate. I guess we’ll just have to use our time wisely.” He leaned over the bed to kiss Will again. Will, laughing, pushed him off.

“You have to go, remember?”

“Right. Yes. Do you know where my tie is?”

“I have no idea. Just take mine. I’ll get yours back to you when we have a minute.”

“Thanks.” In the mirror, Sam combed his hair as best he could with his hands and tied Will’s tie in a loose knot around his neck. “How do I look?”

“Horrible.”

“Shut up.”

“No.”

“I’ll see you tonight.”

“Have a good day, Sam.”

“I will. You too.” He looked back once as he left. Will had his legal pad out and was already hard at work, scribbling away, so deep in concentration he didn’t even look up when the door closed. 

They decided after about a week that it made more sense for Sam to come to Will. Anyone trying to catch him in a scandal would have their cameras trained on his room, and an empty room wasn’t enough to sell to a tabloid. As long as he was back before his first meeting, the agent stationed outside his door never asked where he’d been (there were agents stationed at all the exits, and as long as he stayed in the building they didn’t mind so much where he spent the night), and so it had been surprisingly easy to get away with, so long as he didn’t oversleep. Sam had begun to realize how so many presidents had been able to have sex scandals—it wasn’t that hard to sneak around. His confidence grew as he rode the elevator back up to his room, and then shattered as the elevator doors opened to reveal Joey standing outside his room. She was by herself, no Kenny in sight, so she didn’t hear the elevator ding. For a brief moment, Sam considered just letting the doors close and going back downstairs, but then he saw the folder in Joey’s hand and remembered why she was up here in the first place. Steeling himself, he tapped her on the shoulder. Joey jumped and looked confused momentarily, but shook it off, and all Sam could see on her face was pure excitement. 

“What’s it say?” he signed. Joey looked like she was restraining herself from jumping up and down with excitement.

“Look for yourself.” He took the folder and flipped through it. He didn’t need to look closely to see what it meant.

“We’re up. All along the east coast, we’re up!”

“I know!” Suddenly overwhelmed by the same elation, Sam hugged Joey, picking her up and spinning her around in circles.

“Have you told Josh yet?” he asked her, still grinning like a madman.

“Not yet. I figured I should tell you first. I’ll go tell him now.”

“You do that, I have to go back downstairs and tell W-” Sam stopped himself mid-sentence. “I mean- I’m- just, uh, go tell Josh.”

“Okay.” She paused, as if waiting for him to say something else. “I’ll see you downstairs.”  
“Yep.” Sam watched her go, and once she was out of sight, slumped against the door, all the energy suddenly leached from his body. Funnily enough, all he could think to do was go tell Will about what he’d just done, but he didn’t want to give him any more leverage with which to push them apart. And besides. Will had a job to do, a job he did for Sam, and for Sam to take up any more of his time this morning would be to do them both a disservice. Really, what he wanted was a hot shower and an iced coffee. He really, really, _really_ wanted it, to start his day the way he’d always started his days before all of this began. It had been almost a full year, wasn’t that something? 

A year in a life apart from his own, and yet he felt more like himself than he maybe ever had. This was where he was meant to be, on the national stage, fighting for education and healthcare and the beating heart of a nation he thought could still be saved. But then, he was also meant to be with Will, spending the night in Will’s bed, tucked under Will’s arm, and not worrying about waking up at 4 so he could be back in his own room before anyone else could come looking for him. 

It was hard to maintain the unflappable idealism that Sam assumed made him so popular when he felt like a fox in a cage, constantly watched, waiting for the hunters to arrive. He hadn’t really understood why Laurie was such a big deal back in the day (it was odd to think about how much things had changed since then. For instance, he no longer slept with women), but he thought he understood now. It wasn’t about embarrassing him, it was about control over his life. In those days, he had struggled to care about the effects on his own life. It was all about how it would reflect on the president, and if Sam needed to fall on his sword in order to protect President Bartlet, he would. Now, though, anyone who found out would have immediate control over the possible next President of the United States. He couldn’t fall on his own sword, but there was no one else who could take the fall for him. He’d either have to hide it forever or come out publicly, and neither of those was a permanent fix. Like Laurie, only now on a much larger scale, the secrecy in his relationship with Will was what ripped control directly out of his fingers. Public events could be dealt with publicly. As long as they hid, so too would anyone looking for a scandal, and they would never see it coming. Not, one might say, an ideal situation, even for an idealist. 

Blurry. That was the only way Sam could think to describe Super Tuesday as the clocks drew nearer to 8 p.m. Pacific Standard Time. Joey and Amy delivered stack after stack of exit polls, only to see the results on the news minutes later, and all of it said the same things: while Santos took his home state of Texas and the few states around it, holding only a thin lead, Sam took the east coast and Minnesota, all alone in the midwest. So far, Santos held a solid lead over Sam, but it all came down to California and their 494 delegates.

“7:45,” Josh announced. “Fifteen minutes left. Joey, do you have some more polls for me?” Sam found that as the candidate, he had surprisingly little to do, so he sat on the couch in the middle of the room, watching news anchors report what he had already read.

“...and so far in California polls, we see the incumbent President Santos with a 5-point lead over Governor Sam Seaborn, but of course there’s still fifteen minutes left. We’ll be back momentarily with more information on Super Tuesday.” As the screen flipped to a commercial, Sam looked around the busy room. He saw Amy, Josh, and Joey poring over polling data, Charlie scribbling away at the speech, and C.J. on her way downstairs to wrangle the press. The one person he didn’t see was Will.

“Charlie?”

“What’s up?”

“Do you know where Will is?” Charlie thought for a moment, still writing in his trademark chicken-scratch (he was lucky Sam could read just about anything).

“Upstairs, I think, polishing the finishing draft of the victory speech.”

“He didn’t want to come down and watch with the rest of us?”

“He said he’s got a TV in his room and he’d come down when he’s finished.”  
“Oh.”

“Sam! Come look at these!” Josh waved him over and held out a folder.

“These-” Sam picked it up, glanced at it, and nearly dropped it, eyes wide. “Holy shit.”

“You’re not just up, you’re-”

“-astronomical!” Amy interrupted.

“You crushed him, you absolutely-”

“-crushed him!”  
“Amy, please.” Josh waved her off. 

“This… this is huge.”

“Yeah.”

“Like, 494 delegates huge.”

“Yeah,” Josh repeated, and pulled Sam into a hug. “We did it, man.”  
“There’s 15 minutes left.”

“It’s 15 minutes. You’re 6 points up. That’s not changing.”

“Still,” Sam said, and straightened his tie. “I don’t want to see a single bottle of champagne until we know for sure.” It was an old superstition he had picked up from Toby, who never celebrated what he didn’t know to be true.

“Will!” Suddenly, Josh was looking over Sam’s shoulder, waving someone over. Sam turned and saw that it was Will, clutching his final copy of the speech. He didn’t come over. “Will, come look at these!”

“I saw.” He smiled thinly. “Sam, can-” his voice stopped in his throat, and he took a moment to compose himself. “Can you come look at the last draft? I want to make sure nothing needs to be changed.” Sam followed Will into his office, watching quietly as Will shut the door behind him. He took the speech and skimmed over it.

“This is- wow, Will, this is excellent. As per usual.”

“Thanks.”

“You really ought to look at those polls, they’re pretty spectacular.”  
“I haven’t stopped watching the news in two hours. I finished the speech, I just couldn’t tear myself away.” He stepped closer, tracing his fingers along Sam’s temples, down his cheekbones, over the sharp line of his jaw. “I had to see you win.”

“I haven’t won yet. There’s still-” Sam checked his watch. “-7 minutes left.”

“You’ve won. The rest is just window dressing.”

“I couldn’t have done this without you. You’ve… you’ve revolutionized me,” Sam said, chuckling. Will smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Not true. You could have done it all on your own.” The inches between them closed, bit by bit, until they stood more or less chest-to-chest.

“Well, I didn’t have to. And I’m glad. I don’t want to do it without you”

“I know. I don’t want to be here without you either. which is why I can’t be with you.” Will’s hands still held his face, and Sam felt his cheeks go blazing red, painfully warm.

“I’m sorry?”

“We can’t do it anymore, Sam. It’s all changing.”

“Nothing’s changed.”

“Nothing’s changed? Sam, you’re the frontrunner. California put you over, you’re leading Santos by two points.”

“It’s two points-“

“Two points that put you on top. I want you, Sam, you know I do, but I want you to win more.”

“Well, I don’t! I don’t want to win if we-“

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not-“

“You are and you know you are. That’s what lov- that’s what being with someone does to you. You don’t know what you want.” 

“You’re seriously trying to tell me what I want?” Sam reached up to push his hair out of his face and noticed there were tears on his cheeks. Bitterly, he brushed them away, willing his face to turn to stone.

“No. But I know we wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to run, so I’m calling the play. You’re going to be the nominee, Sam-“ Will was smiling now, but crying too. He made no attempt to dry his face, so Sam reached up to wipe the tears away.

“No, no, no-“ he murmured, volume steadily increasing.

“Yes, you are, and you’re going to be fantastic. Just... goddamn fantastic-“ Will pulled his hands away from Sam’s face, leaving a void over his cheeks, and adjusted Sam’s tie, really his tie that Sam had borrowed.

“Will, you can’t do this-“ Sam’s protests went unheard.

“I have to. For your sake more than mine. You’re going to do great things, Sam. We’re going to do them together. Just not _together.”_ Far too quickly, Will pressed one last scathing kiss to Sam’s lips, smoothed his tie, and stepped back, pausing by the door. “I’m proud of you. I don’t know if that counts for anything, but I’m-” Seeing the heat rise in Sam’s eyes, he didn’t finish, just stepped out and closed the door behind him. Once the door was closed, Sam collapsed against the desk, struggling for air. 

“What the hell just happened?” he asked himself aloud. This morning, he thought they had come to a conclusion. _Not until hell freezes over._ But a relative newcomer had beaten the sitting president on Super Tuesday and was leading him for the democratic nomination, so hell had frozen over, hadn’t it?

“Sam?” Josh’s voice came muffled through the door. “It’s 8, the polls just closed.” Sam tried to reply, but he couldn’t seem to make the words come out. He pulled the door open just as Josh tried to push it, and Josh stumbled into the office. “Dude, are you okay?”

“Fine. Just give me a minute.” Sam brushed past him and pushed through the crowd. It was too hot, and he couldn’t breathe. Air. He needed air.

He made his way to the sliding doors on the other side of the room and slid them open, inhaling deeply as the cool air hit him. He left the door open and walked to the railing, looking out at the quiet street ten stories below him. The street had been blocked off by agents, and across the median was a beach, a long stretch of empty sand, shining under the streetlight. As Sam closed his eyes and listened to the crashing waves, he remembered the day he flew to Oregon to see Will just about a year ago, how they had sat on the beach there and Will convinced Sam to run with or without Josh. And even before that, when Sam had flown out to California, and he had met Will for the first time. Will reminded him why he loved the running, the campaigns, the ideas, so really, it was no wonder Sam had offered himself up to Will as a candidate. Twice, he had gone to Will, and twice, Will had told him to run. When C.J. told him he couldn’t win without Josh, and when Josh had refused to come, it was Will who believed in him. And, evidently, he believed in Sam enough to break it off on the off chance he won, just to protect him. 

Sam kicked the railing and listened to the rattle echo down the empty street. He didn’t want to be alone so much as he just didn’t want to be inside right now. It seemed as though he was never alone now, and admittedly, spending his nights with someone else was a choice he had made. It was all a choice he had made, and accepted the consequences long ago. He made a lot of choices, knowing full well there would be consequences. Laughing sourly, Sam reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. They had been there for awhile, untouched. He only really smoked during periods of distress, and he’d given up entirely (or at least thought he had) in Iowa. Now, for the first time in a long time, he slipped a cigarette between his lips and fumbled for a lighter. Holding up a hand to block the wind, he lit the cigarette and sighed. He had asked himself a long time ago if he’d been willing to lose for Will, and he was. That was the stupid little thing about it. He would have given it all up for Will, and Will never gave him the chance. 

“Stupid,” Sam muttered under his breath, and exhaled smoke into the silent, dimly lit night. Inside, he heard the newscaster say something about tonight’s results.  
“Sam!” C.J. called from the doorway. “They’re about to call it, we should get you downstairs.”

“Yeah. One sec.” 

_“And the official winner of the California primary is the challenger, Governor Sam Seaborn.”_ Sam shook his head and smoothed his tie. He realized it was the exact same tie he had given to Will in California almost six years ago. How was that for irony? Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed. Sam dropped his cigarette to the floor and put it out with his foot, grinding it to just a pile of sparks under his heel. 


	20. Chapter 20

“Josh?” Almost everyone had gone to bed. It was late, even by campaign standards, and Josh was fighting not to yawn, but he wasn’t about to sleep now, not while he was still riding this high. Across the room, Amy sat on her desk, holding the phone to her ear. Now, she held it out to Josh.

“Who is it?”

“Some guy named Hank Knight from the White House.”

“Knight… Why does that name sound familiar?” He took the phone, still thinking. “Joshua Lyman, Seaborn campaign offices, how can I help you?”

“Josh, it’s Hank Knight. President Santos’s Chief of Staff.”  _ Oh,  _ Josh mouthed.

“My replacement,” he whispered to Amy, covering the receiver with his hand. “How can I help you, Hank?”

“Well, you could drop out.”

“See, that’s a great offer, but considering we’re two points up, I think we’ll pass.”

“Those two points won’t last forever.”

“Of course not.” Amy, curious, raised her eyebrows.

“Well?” Josh just rolled his eyes.

“Look, Hank, did you call just to be ridiculous or do you actually have something you want to talk about?”

“We’re prepared to make you an offer.”

“Oh? For what?”

“The vice presidency.” The receiver shook in Josh’s hand. “If you drop out now, we’ll drop Baker and put Sam on the ticket.”

“Has the president authorized you to make this offer?”   
“He’s just given me the order. Trust me. If it were up to just me, I wouldn’t be making this call right now.” Josh found he didn’t care for Hank Knight much. 

“And how do I know if we drop out you won’t just pretend it didn’t happen?” Hank sighed on the other line.

“I’ll put it in writing if you agree. Is Sam there?”

“He’s gone to bed.”

“Will you talk it over with him? Preferably by tomorrow morning?”

“I’ll go see if he’s still up. I’ll call you back when I have an answer. Okay?”   
“Thanks, Josh.”

“Yeah.” Josh put the phone down and groaned.

“What?” Amy asked eagerly.

“He’s offering Sam the VP slot if we drop out now.”

“Wow.”

“Exactly.”

“They must be scared, ‘cause Santos-”

“-hates Sam. I know.”

“You’re going to go talk to Sam?”

“Yep.”

“He’s going to say no.” Josh shrugged.

“Probably. But I have to ask.” He yawned, suddenly exhausted. “No rest for the wicked, or whatever they say.”

“I think it’s ‘no rest for the weary.’”

“Applies either way.”

Sam took a minute to get to the door when Josh knocked, which was unlike him, and he looked even worse than Josh felt, also unlike him.

“Josh. What’s-” He rubbed at his bleary eyes, managing a small, drowsy smile. “What’s up?”

“You need some sleep.”

“No kidding. What are you doing up here?”

“Can I come in?” Sam stepped aside to allow Josh in. The room was freezing cold, but Sam, half-changed into his pajamas in shorts and an unbuttoned shirt, didn’t seem to notice. He fell into one of the chairs in the small sitting area, eyes hazy and unfocused. “Sam? Sam?” Josh snapped his fingers a couple of times to get Sam’s attention.

“Yeah. I’m listening.”

“I just got a call from Hank Knight.”

“Knight? Why does that name sound so familiar?”

“He’s Santos’s new Chief of Staff. Used to be Baker’s, but after you and I left, I guess the president stole him.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, he made you an offer.”

“An offer?”

“If you drop out now, he’ll give you the VP slot.”

“But Baker-”   
“He’ll drop Baker.”

“If Matt Santos didn’t hate my guts when I quit after less than six months, he definitely hates my guts now.”

“He’s offering you the vice presidency, Sam. That’s all I can say.”

“Hm.”

“Are you really considering it?” Sam shrugged and gave Josh a distant smile.

“I don’t know. Sometimes… I think it might just be easier not to be the president. Or be running for president. Just to… let someone else run the campaign for a change. You know?”

“I don’t. You know me, Sam. I don’t know who I am if I’m not running for something.”

“Yeah, well. I’m not like that. Sometimes I miss having a life.”

“When I came to get you in New York, you didn’t have to come back. You know that, right?”

“I do. And I know that if I didn’t go back to D.C. with you, I’d still be practicing corporate law at a firm I hate, working for companies that are against everything I stand for, probably married to a woman, living the same shitty life I lived for thirty years. I’m glad that’s not the life I’m living now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wish I had a real life sometimes.” 

“Are you okay, Sam?” Josh couldn’t really remember the last time he had seen Sam like this. It reminded him of the time Sam had found out about his father’s affair. He didn’t sleep or eat for almost a week, it was like pulling teeth just to get him to have some dinner or take a nap. 

“Fine.”

“What do I tell our friend Mr. Knight?” Sam sighed, running his hands through his hair, which really was getting much too long.

“Tell him no. They’re asking because they’re scared. We can work with scared. We can beat scared.”

“I’ll make the call.” Josh hesitated as he started to leave. “Sam, really. What’s going-”

“I’m fine. Just need sleep. Go call him, and then you go to bed too.”

“Yeah. Alright.”

Josh called Hank back and told him no thank you, we’re good, to which Hank didn’t seem particularly surprised. But that was the end of it, he was sure. They wouldn’t call again, at least not with another offer. Josh was finally done with the Santos campaign, and he found he didn’t mind at all. Matt Santos was the pick he’d made when there were no better options, and now he wasn’t. Simple. Rational. Josh could deal with simple and rational. He was walking towards the elevator, finally ready to get some sleep, when his phone rang in his back pocket. 

“Hello?” The doors shut behind him and he started up. For a moment, the other line was silent. “Hello?” he repeated.

“Josh.”

“Donna. Hey.”

“Hi.”

“What? No congratulations?” She ignored his little crack.

“Did you turn down Hank Knight’s offer?” Josh was caught off-guard, it had barely been ten minutes since he’d gotten off the phone with Hank.

“Donna, I- what-” he stammered. “How do you know I talked to him? I got off the phone barely ten minutes ago.”

“We’re friends. I do have friends, other than you, you know. Did you turn him down?” she asked, little patience in her voice.

“Well, no, I talked to Sam, and Sam turned him down.”

“Sam listens to you. He wouldn’t do anything you didn’t tell him to do.”

“Okay. I told him not to take it.” Josh was only half paying attention now as he stepped off the elevator and scavenged through his pockets for his room key. 

“Why’d you do that?” Her voice was dry and slightly raspy, the way it always was when she worked herself to the point of exhaustion. Now that Josh was in California, there was no one to remind her to go home. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” He unlocked his room and tucked the phone between his ear and his shoulder, tossing his jacket and tie on the bed. “We’re winning, Donna.”

“I’m aware of that, actually. I’m not a complete moron.”

“I know that.”

“Donna, you’re not seriously mad at me for rejecting that objectively insulting offer.” He put her on speaker so he could peel his shirt over his head.

“I actually am, a little.”

“What- why?” Josh sputtered, searching for words. Whoever it was on the other line, they weren’t Donna, at least not the Donna he left in D.C.

“Because it was a good offer, damn it, more than you and Sam deserve for abandoning the rest of us like you did. And, I don’t know, maybe the fact that it finally would have put you and me back on equal footing? On the same side?”

“Donnatella-”

“Don’t call me that.” He only ever called her Donnatella when they argued, which wasn’t often enough for it to be a common occurrence.

“Donna, I honestly don’t know what you’re upset with me for. Because I didn’t want to take second place when I’m first in the running? It doesn’t make any sense!”

“Maybe if you stopped being so analytical, it would.”

“Now, what the hell does that mean?”

“It means that when you were following your little formula, you forgot to factor something in?”

“What? Stop talking in circles and just tell me what you’re upset about, please!”

“Us, Josh! You forgot that your refusal to compromise puts us at odds!”   
“Actually, Donnatella, I didn’t forget about us!”

“So, what? You just don’t care enough about having a functional relationship to even ask me what I thought?”

“You’re on his side! I knew what you thought! And to be quite honest, I care more about a functional presidency than I do about a functional relationship!”   
“I-” Donna was quiet for the first time since he’d picked up the phone. “Am I never going to be a priority to you?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He couldn’t see her face, but he was sure that if he could, she was wincing. “Sam asked you if you wanted to come on board. You refused to come to New Hampshire. It’s not my fault we’re on opposite sides.”

“ _ You  _ didn’t ask me to come, Josh. You had to have Sam do it. So no, it isn’t my fault, and you didn’t answer my question. Is Sam always going to be your first choice? Am I always going to be who you go to when there’s just no better option?”   
“You’re equating an election to a relationship. They aren’t the same thing. But, under your logic, in this case, this election has immediate, highly impactful, lasting results. So, yeah. For the moment, that’s my priority. You know who I am, Donna. You know I’m not me unless I’m running for something.” He didn’t even realize until hours later that he was repeating the very thing he had said to Sam earlier. “I don’t know why you expect me to be something that I’m not, nor have I ever been.”

“You know what, Josh? You’re right. And I can actually think of something else that’s going to have immediate, highly impactful, lasting results. There will be another election in four years. There won’t be another me. I’m done, Joshua. Permanently.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I can’t do this anymore. I can’t stand around waiting for you to come to your senses-”   
“I’m sorry, I’m the one who needs to come to my senses?”

“Yeah, you are, and maybe three years ago I would have waited for you to do that, or come back once you have, but I’m not going to wait for that to happen this time and I’m not going to stick around until it does. I’m sick of taking a backseat to your need for competition. You can win this election. I honestly can’t bring myself to care anymore. But whether you do or not, you will come back to D.C. to find you have nothing but an empty apartment full of dead plants.” Before Josh could even fathom a response to that, she hung up. Josh stepped back, ears ringing. It was like he was standing on the edge of a cliff and had been hit with sudden vertigo, so dizzy he might just fall. 

She wasn’t gone, she was… she was Donna. She couldn’t be gone.

And yet, here he stood, the dial tone still bouncing around his head, tying him into knots. And the funny (not-so-funny, really) thing was that he had lied. Not once in all the time that he was talking to Amy, Sam, and Hank, had she ever crossed his mind. Her photo was in his wallet, her lipstick stained the collar of his shirt, and he hadn’t managed to spare a single thought to her. Outside, he could see the beach, and he watched for a few minutes as whitecaps churned and crashed against the sand. Overhead, storm clouds were forming. Lightning struck the water, illuminating seemingly the entire world for less than a second. Shortly after, its companion, thunder, followed, too quiet for such a fantastic bolt of electricity. Donna was lightning, brilliant, casting light over everything Josh knew to be true or had long since forgotten, and he was thunder—too little, too late.


	21. Chapter 21

There were still nearly 2 dozen primaries and caucuses to be attended following Super Tuesday, split nearly evenly down the middle between Sam and Santos. C.J. tried her best to convince the press that they were winning, but anyone could see—it had been nearly a dead lock since March, and now, as they closed out July, nothing had changed. Connecticut was the last stop before the nominating convention, but C.J. wasn’t on the bus out of Louisiana with the rest of her friends, she was on a plane that had just touched down in Los Angeles, the closest she’d been to home in the nearly 5 months since Super Tuesday. No one had asked her to come to Connecticut, and no one expected it. It seemed like a cruel twist of fate that her daughter’s birthday fell on the weekend before the nominating convention, but C.J. had practically had to threaten to quit in order to stop Sam from redirecting the entire campaign back to California when he found out. Instead, C.J. had promised to take two days off and go home, and that she would bring back plenty of pictures of A.J. and her second birthday cake. 

Danny knew she was coming, but she had told him she would catch a cab to Santa Monica, so it was surprising to see him standing by the baggage claim, holding a very cute, very familiar baby wearing a birthday hat. C.J. ran to them, her suitcase nearly flying up behind her.

“You’re here!”

“Hi,” Danny said, and kissed her forehead.

“I told you I’d meet you at home.”

“I know. I just wanted to spend the maximum amount of time with you.”

“God, you’re a sap.”

“Sue me.” He handed over A.J. and took her bag as they walked. Once the baby was in her arms, C.J. wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to put her down. 

“Happy birthday, baby! How’s my big girl?”

“Ohhhh-kay,” A.J. replied.

“She’s really talking now, huh?” 

“She picked up a lot in the last couple of months, watching you on TV.”

“Aw.” C.J. thought she could have melted there and then. “Can you say ‘Matt Santos is a pseudo-liberal shill?’”   
“Map-a-dandos?”

“Good enough.” As they got in the car and started away from the airport, C.J.’s brows furrowed. “Danny? This isn’t the way home.”

“No, no it is not.”

“Where are we going?”

“I thought we’d make a stop first. Make the most of today.”

“What did you have in mind?”   
“You’ll see.” Without taking his eyes off the road, Danny reached over and slipped his hand into hers. His hair was a little grayer than it had been in March, but his blue eyes still sparkled with the same vibrancy as they had when he was just an ambitious young writer, sitting in the 4th row of C.J.’s press room, ready to ask the questions he knew she didn’t want him to ask. That was the man she’d married, believe it or not, and had a child with, and in the car, headed god knows where, on their daughter’s second birthday and a mere few months from their third anniversary, she knew right then and there that she had made the right choice.

“The pier?” Danny pulled the car into a spot just along the edge of the beach that bordered Santa Monica Pier.

“I thought that we might as well make A.J.’s second birthday a little special, considering you’re not home for long.” He didn’t mean it as a dig at her, but C.J. still winced. No one knew better than she did that she wasn’t at home for long, and that it would be awhile before she would be back. “There’s a cooler in the trunk and a bag full of beach stuff. You up for it?”

“Of course.” They unloaded the car, and C.J. carried A.J. on her hip down onto the sand. There were enough clouds in the sky that the blazing August sun wasn’t too harsh, and the sea was relatively calm for the time being. 

“They don’t have beaches like this in D.C.,” Danny said offhand, and passed her a Coke out of the cooler.

“They really don’t. We should consider moving the White House out here.”

“I think you might get some backlash for that.”

“Yeah, but whenever anyone gets upset, we’ll just show them a picture of A.J. No one can be upset looking at that adorable face.” A.J., oblivious to whatever her parents were talking about, giggled when she heard her name. 

“You make an excellent point.” Danny reached into his bag and pulled out a beach ball. The ball was about as wide as A.J. was tall, but she held it like a champ in her chubby little baby arms. 

“That’s my girl.” C.J. kissed her head and A.J. squealed. A gust of wind burst out of nowhere, knocking the ball from her hands and sending it speeding down the beach. As her smile turned quickly to tears, C.J. was up in a flash, racing down the beach after the ball. The wind off the Pacific was no match for her long strides, and she caught it just before it rolled through another family’s lunch. “Sorry,” she said, and jogged back to the pair of redheads at the other end of the sand. Danny was trying his hardest to keep A.J. distracted, but relaxed when he saw C.J. returning, rainbow-colored ball in hand.

“You, Claudia, are a lifesaver.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” C.J. gave the ball a light bump and it drifted lazily back down into A.J.’s arms. A tiny yellow-and-pink striped hat covered the birthday girl’s tightly packed red curls and shaded her freckled face from the sun. She was all Danny’s kid, except her eyes, which were C.J.’s muted green, and her nose, slightly hooked just like C.J.’s.

“Hey, press secretary.” He snapped his fingers in front of her face, and she realized she’d been spacing out.

“Yes, fish boy?”

“Is that nickname ever going to go away?”

“You gave me a fish before I even went out with you.”

“Point taken. Anyway, tell me what’s up. What’s been going on? Brief me.”

“Well, I assume you heard about Ainsley.”

“Not really surprising after Vinick, is it? They nominated a moderate man, and that didn’t work out, so they’re going with a conservative woman.”

“Not really surprising, no. Only issue is that we managed to drag the country left with the last election between a moderate and a liberal. This time, we’ve got a conservative republican and some kind of progressive democrat, although we’ll see just how progressive after next week, I guess. If we win, it stays that way, and we keep pulling left. That’s what we want. If we lose, the republican party gets dragged further right and so does the democratic party by extension. Vinick was one thing, Hayes is a whole other can of worms.”

“It’s disappointing. I mean, you guys were all friends, and now…”

“We’ll see. If she fights fair, maybe we can stay that way. I’m less worried about her than I am about the PACs she has behind her.”

“Not to be a cynic, but it’s possible that next week, it won’t even be your problem anymore.”

“You’re not cynical. You’re honest.” C.J. leaned over and kissed his cheek. “It’s fine, I think we could all use a little grounding, this week especially. Sam’s got his head in the clouds, it’s like he’s not even thinking about what could happen if he doesn’t get the nomination. It’s like…”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s the only thing he has left to lose.”

“Isn’t it? To some extent? I mean, he’s lost the governorship. If he loses the nomination, that’s it, he goes home and he’s got nothing to do.”

“It’s more than that, though. The rest of us, all of us working for him, we have lives to go back to. Families, friends- except Josh, I guess.”

“What’s going on with Josh?”

“Oh, that’s a whole other thing, but I’ll get to that. With Sam, he used to have the same attitude about that as the rest of us. Like if he lost, there would still be something to hold him up even without work. Since Super Tuesday, though, it’s like this is the only thing tethering him to real life. If it breaks, if he loses, it’s like he thinks everything is gone.”

“That’s not like Sam.”

“Not at all.”

“So what’s the deal with Josh?”

“Well,” C.J. shook her head. It was unbelievable really. Josh and Donna were a constant in life, it seemed, always together, bickering but not really arguing, in love whether they knew it or not. “Santos’s new Chief of Staff called Josh and offered Sam the VP slot if he drops out now. They turned him down, so Donna dumped Josh, and Sam’s so messed up Josh still hasn’t told him.”

“So that’s-”

“A little insane? And quite possibly going to devastate Sam when he finds out? Yeah. Pretty much.” Danny let out a long, slow breath and looked down at A.J., still occupied with the beach ball. “So Baker stays Santos’s VP.”

“Presumably.”

“Have you guys picked someone yet?”

“We’re working on it.”

“You have a week.”

“Yeah, well, that’s a whole seven days.”

“You have a list?”

“I can’t share that list with members of the press until Governor Seaborn has made a decision.”

“Ha-ha.”

“I still got it, don’t you think?”

“All that and more. Anyway, tell me.”

“Well, it’s a long list.”

“Top 3?”

“Our number 3 is Roland Pierce-”

“Josh’s intern’s uncle?”

“That’s the one.”

“Isn’t he, you know, old?”

“He’s 76.”

“Like I said. Old.”

“And that’s why he’s not our first pick.”

“Okay. Who’s number 2?”

“William Wiley.”

“Bartlet beat him out in ‘98.”

“I’m aware.”

“So-”

“Second choice.”

“And? Number one?” C.J. found it slightly difficult not to laugh, not because she didn’t think their first choice was their best choice, and not because it didn’t thrill her to have said choice as their first choice, but because she knew Danny would laugh.

“Andrea Wyatt.”

“Is there and Andrea Wyatt I’ve never met or are we talking about-”   
“Toby Ziegler’s ex-wife. Although, from what I hear, they may be heading towards removing the ‘ex-factor’, so to speak.”   
“And that’s a… good idea?”   
“According to Joey, she polls well along the east coast, including in more than a few red states.”

“Toby’s thing won’t hurt her?”

“We don’t know. She’s been re-elected a couple times since, if that tells you anything.”

“In  _ Maryland.  _ In a district that hasn’t gone red in 45 years.”

“But she polls well everywhere else. Trust me, Danny, I asked these same questions, but Sam, Josh, Amy, Joey, and Will all thought it was a good idea.”

“And Toby?” C.J. couldn’t answer that.   
“I-”

“Talk to Toby, C.J.”

“But-”

“No but.” A.J. giggled, a bright sound in what had become a slightly tense afternoon.

“Butt,” she said, and smiled infectiously.

“Oh, god.” C.J. swept her up. “What would we do without you, sweet girl?” A.J. smiled again, and they were done talking about the campaign. C.J. set her aside for a moment to roll up the cuffs of her jeans, and then carried her down to the water’s edge, Danny trailing a few steps behind. A.J. wobbled a couple of steps into the water and crouched to pat the top of the waves, splashing herself in the face. C.J. bent over and took one of her hands, and Danny took the other, and together they waded into the water. 

“Are you having a good birthday, Abigail Josephine?” Danny asked, and C.J. watched as he and A.J. crouched to examine a shell buried in the sand. A.J. looked back at C.J., smiled, and simply said, “Mommy,” before returning to her thorough investigation. With her feet squarely back on the right side of the country and a second year under her belt with the child she was sure she would love more than anything else ever in her life, C.J. forgot about Connecticut and the nominating convention and the White House. Because A.J. and Danny weren’t in Connecticut, they weren’t at the nomination convention, and they were nowhere near the White House. They were on a Santa Monica beach, playing in the waves as the golden sun scattered splinters of light into infinite space, not a press secretary and a reporter, but very simply a man, a woman, and their daughter, celebrating another year around the sun.


	22. Chapter 22

Josh spent too much time on this stupid bus. He felt like he’d spent half of the last 12 years of his life on a bus, and the other half negotiating. At the current moment, he was preparing to do both. At the very least, he was glad to be leaving Connecticut—his home state was not his favorite place on earth—but leaving Connecticut meant they were headed to South Carolina to prepare for the nominating convention, and that they still had no VP pick. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. They had a pick. They had several picks. They just needed one to say yes. Geographically, South Carolina was just about the best place for them to be headed, because it meant that a detour through Maryland wouldn’t take them far out of their way.

“You ready to head out?” Will asked, joining him just outside the bus.

“I guess.”

“You think Andy’s gonna say yes?”

“I really couldn’t tell you.”

“She knows we’re coming.”

“Of course she does. And she knows what we’re going to ask her when we get there. Of course she does. Andy Wyatt is a great many things, but she’s not stupid or oblivious in the slightest.”

“And us? Are we stupid for going to see her without telling Toby?”

“Toby’s not stupid either. He knows.”

“If everyone knows, what the hell is it a big deal for?” Josh sighed and stepped up onto the bus.

“Because  _ we  _ don’t know.” Sam and Joey sat at the back of the bus, going through a stack of polls, both of them signing rapidly. Josh caught maybe a couple of words. Amy boarded behind him, balancing two cardboard trays of Starbucks coffee. Josh plucked his order out and chugged it. He needed as much caffeine as possible to get through today. And the rest of the week, for that matter. “Can we go now?” he asked no one in particular, and sat down across from Amy. 

“Someone’s on edge.”

“Shut up.” She glanced back at Joey and Sam, and then leaned forward, lowering her voice. 

“You still haven’t told him about Donna?” Josh groaned. The only things he ever seemed to talk about anymore were Donna and the convention.

“Are you kidding? He’s on the verge of a breakdown. I can’t tell him she dumped me days before the convention.”

“I mean, you could. He’s going to find out at some point.”

“Once he’s got the nomination. I’m not going to throw him off by telling him that his decision not to take Santos’s VP offer is what shattered my relationship.”

“Whatever. It’s your funeral.”

“Cheerful.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Amy left him to join Sam and Joey in the back, and Josh let his head fall back against the seat. Maybe he could get a few minutes of sleep before the caffeine kicked in and he actually had to think about what he was going to say to Andy in Maryland. That was how he lived life on the road—minute-by-minute, sleeping where and when he could, making it all up on the fly.

The bus stopped outside the Maryland headquarters, and Josh parted ways with the rest of his friends. They were off to Fort McHenry, but Josh had somewhere else to be. He rented a car and drove to Rockville, where he found himself outside a house he had spent almost every free weekend at during the first Bartlet campaign, before the divorce, and one Christmas when it had snowed so much he couldn’t get back to Connecticut. Sweating under his sport coat, he made his way up the front walk and knocked. Maryland seemed as good a place as any to live. Sometimes Josh wished he had moved out of D.C. and just accepted the longer commute. Maybe if he had, he and Donna would have shared a house, for real, not just most of the time while she still paid rent on her own place, and it might have been harder for her to just pack up the things she kept there and leave. Although, if Toby and Andy were any proof, living together wasn’t enough to hold a relationship together.

The door swung open, and there she was, as severe and sweet as she was the day they met. 

“Josh,” Andy said, and held open the door. He stepped inside and kissed her cheek.

“Congresswoman.”

“Please.” She kicked aside a toy truck.

“Where’s my niece and nephew?” They all considered Toby’s and C.J.’s children to be their family. None of them had enough family otherwise, so they found it together, cross-country, genetically distinct, occasionally a little broken, and rarely on the same page, but that was family nonetheless, wasn’t it?

“Baseball practice.”

“Molly too?”

“She’s got the best arm on their little league team.”

“Take some video at one of their games for me, would you?”

“Of course.” He followed Andy into the kitchen and accepted the coffee she poured him. “Are you stopping in D.C. on your way down to the convention?” Josh’s thoughts went briefly to Donna, who was surely still at work.

“No, I don’t think so. At least, we weren’t planning on it.”

“Ah.” She smiled narrowly at him. “Josh?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you going to ask me?”

“What?”

“Whatever you came here to ask me.”

“Come to South Carolina. Be the next Vice President of the United States.” Andy scoffed.

“That’s funny. Really.”

“I’m not joking. We want you.”

“And I want a billion dollars, but there are just things that aren’t going to happen.”

“Andy-”

“I barely scraped by re-election this year, Josh. Between the twins and Toby, I’m not exactly an electoral boon.”

“You’re an incredible congresswoman.”

“That’s kind of you, Josh, but you’re not stupid. You know that’s not all there is to it. You got the last president elected by hitching on an old friend, and that worked out. It won’t work out for you this time.”

“If you really think I’m here, asking you to come to South Carolina, because we’re old friends, then I think maybe we don’t want you after all. Come on, Andy, you poll incredibly well along the entire east coast, not just Maryland, and in the midwest. Sam is a Californian, he can handle the west, but he needs help over here.”

“Great. But you really think that a single mother of two children born out of wedlock is the best person to help a gay man who’s essentially betrayed his party by running win this election?”

“That’s not-”

“It’s realistic.” Andy set down her coffee. “We’re about to go through the single most unique election that this country has ever seen. The candidates are a conservative republican woman and a gay primary challenger. That means that the south is up for grabs. Ainsley’s going to pick a conservative man, probably from Texas, to try to take back ground. What you’re doing, it’s like you don’t even want to win. Come on.” She nodded her head towards the front door. “Let’s go sit out on the porch.” Josh followed her out to the front porch and sat across from her on a low wicker loveseat.

“Andy, please. Your voting record is without complaint, you poll well-”

“I poll well as a hypothetical. Right? You ask about my voting record, my policy, my caucus, and all that polls well. You’re forgetting that my name is a scar on all of that.”

“How many voters outside of Maryland do you think know that you used to be married to Toby?”

“Any who don’t will as soon as you announce me as your nominee.”

“And a large number of them will say Toby was right to do it and they’ll vote for you on that alone.”

“And an equally large number will hate my guts as soon as they hear my children’s last name.”

“You should have faith in the voters.”

“Josh Lyman? Telling me to have faith in the voters? Has the world turned upside-down?” Truthfully, this was a lot more optimistic than Josh usually was. He was the leave-no-stone-unturned, eleventh-hour guy. He stopped working when the work was done, and the work was never done. But then, maybe Andy was right. Donna had dumped him. The world was a little topsy-turvy.

“I promise I’m fine. No brain injuries here. I just want the best person for the job.”

“It’s just… I’m permanently attached to Toby, and that makes me radioactive. I’m nuclear, Josh.”

“If it weren’t for Toby, would you say yes?”

“Yes,” Andy said immediately.

“Then say yes. We know what the consequences will be. This isn’t me coming to ask an old friend for a favor. This is me, representing the future President of the United States, extending an offer to someone who I hope will be the future Vice President of the United States.” Josh extended his hand and Andy considered it momentarily.

“Stop in D.C.,” she said. “Talk to Toby, ask what he thinks. If he thinks it’s a good idea, call me. I’ll be on a plane in an hour.” She stood without shaking his hand. “Would you like to stay for dinner? I’m sure Molly and Huck would love to see you.”

“I have a bus to catch.”

“Right.”

“I’ll see you in South Carolina.” Wordlessly, Andy waved him off the porch. 

“Say hello to my ex-husband for me, would you?” She called as Josh got into the car. He waved to her as he backed down the driveway. She hadn’t said no, which was important, but she hadn’t said yes either.  _ Talk to Toby.  _ He thought maybe she would say that, and he had been prepared to make another stop, but he had hoped she’d just say yes and not send him to D.C. Toby was even more cynical than Josh, and that was saying something. Still. Sam wanted Andy, and if it meant they had to go see Toby, they would go see Toby.

“How’d it go?” Sam asked as they re-boarded the bus. His speech had gone well, according to C.J. Will didn’t seem to have much to say at all. 

“Come sit with me.” They sat together at the front of the bus. “We need to stop in D.C.” Understanding dawned on Sam’s face.

“Is he going to say yes?”

“It’s Toby.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I know.” 

“I’ll go tell the driver.” Josh watched him go to the front of the bus. He’d never seen Sam so exhausted. Finding out about Donna might actually kill him.

“Are you excited?” He asked as Sam sat back down. At the very least, he could try to lift Sam’s spirits.

“I think so. I like conventions. I like the energy.”

“I wish you’d been with us at the last one.” Sam smiled faintly.

“Sometimes I wish I had too. But if I’d latched myself to Santos that early on, I’m not sure I could have left, and I’m glad I left.”

“I know I wasn’t so glad when you left. Actually, I’m pretty sure I was a massive dick. But I’m glad you left, because you needed to do this. You needed to run.” Sam glanced over his shoulder to the back of the bus, where Will, Amy, and Charlie were getting a moment’s sleep in, heads resting on one another’s shoulders. 

“I’m glad one of us thinks so.”

“You regret running? Because we can stop the bus now and all of us can go home.” Sam shook his head.

“No. I don’t regret it. You’re right. I just sometimes think my life might be easier if I had decided not to run after all.”

“Easier. But boring-er. Is that a word?”

“More boring,” Sam offered. 

“Sure. Either way, your term would be over and then what? You’d have gone back to corporate law?”

“Probably not.”

“Look, Sam. If- no, when you win, you’re going to be an incredible president. You will.”

“Oddly, that’s not at all what I’m worried about. I can cross that bridge when I get to it.”

“What are you worried about then?” Sam looked over his shoulder again at their friends, who remained fast asleep.

“Nothing. There’s nothing to worry about.” He tucked his folded suit coat between his head and the bus window and closed his eyes. Josh watched his friend fall asleep and then began to think about what they might say to Toby. He and Toby had never quite found their footing again since Josh left. Not that it had been a particularly stable relationship before that. They needed Sam to mellow the both of them out, and once he left, they were like two volatile chemicals just waiting to be combined in a chemistry experiment that would blow Virginia off the face of the earth. Maybe with Sam, they could get a little of what they used to have back.

Toby lived in the same townhouse he always had, close enough to the White House that if his 1978 Dodge Dart decided not to start one morning, he could walk. That same Dodge Dart, over 30 years old now, was still parked at the curb as the town car carrying Sam, Josh, and the pair of secret service agents that accompanied them everywhere pulled up. Josh saw the chip in the paint on one corner of the house created by an aluminum baseball bat during the last round of batting practice he and Sam and Toby had ever had here. This house held even more memories than the one in Maryland, memories of Thanksgivings and birthdays and Yankees games where Toby demanded silence whenever Roger Clemens was pitching. 

“Any last words before we get our asses handed to us for not telling him we want his ex-wife to be the Vice President?” Josh asked as Sam came to stand beside him on the sidewalk.

“You really think he’s going to be that pissed?”

“It’s Toby. Who knows what he’s going to think?” As if that answered either of their questions, Josh climbed the front steps and rang the buzzer. It took a minute, but the door opened, and Toby appeared, virtually unchanged since the last time he and Josh had seen each other. He had those perpetual basset-hound eyes, dark and flat and seemingly omniscient. 

“You said you’d be here an hour ago. When you called,” Toby said in lieu of greeting.

“Sorry. There was an accident and we got stalled on our way out of Maryland.”

“Visiting Andy?” he asked, and held the door open wider so Josh and Sam, following their agents, could enter. After a brief sweep of the apartment, the three of them were left alone. Josh shouldn’t have been surprised that Toby figured it out. Toby had never been stupid. In fact, he was much smarter than Josh.

“Yeah. Andy,” Sam said. Josh was thankful for Sam. It meant he didn’t have to have this conversation with Toby alone.

“She say yes?” Toby led them into the living room and they all sat, perched on the edges of their seats, ready to fly at the drop of a hat.

“That’s why we’re here.”

“She wanted us to talk to you first,” Josh said at last, fiddling with the strap on his backpack. Toby nodded.

“I figured.”

“So? What do you think?” Sam was as eager as ever, and it made both Josh and Toby smile. 

“I think… look. If it were just Andy, Andy on her own, and I didn’t exist, I would tell you there’s no better choice on the planet. That being said, we don’t live in a vacuum, and I very obviously do exist. The only reason I’m not currently serving six to eleven years in federal prison for leaking state secrets and obstruction of justice right now is because my former boss had the ability to pardon me.”

“Andy had nothing to do with that-”

“You know that, and I know that, and anyone with an ounce of critical thinking skills knows that, but we’re talking about the American voters here. The majority of whom don’t know enough or care enough about what I did to see past the headlines, which will just say ‘Vice Presidential Candidate Formerly Married To Traitor.’”

“That’s kind of a crappy headline-”

“Sam.”

“Sorry. Not the point.”

“The point is that my nuclear meltdown, so to speak, might have been four years ago, but I’m still plenty radioactive. Andy is my Chernobyl. It’s my problem, but she’s radioactive anyway.”

“This metaphor’s getting overextended, Toby. We polled Andy, and she tested well in more than one of the areas Sam doesn’t. I elected two alcoholics to the vice presidency, Toby. The three of us, we navigated the M.S. scandal and came out with a second term. Sam won a congressional campaign in a state he hadn’t lived in since he was seventeen, and Will won a congressional campaign in a state he lived in for only six months. We’re the underdogs again, this is what we’re good at.” Josh stood and began pacing, as he always did when he was on his soapbox. He could feel Toby watching him with those all-seeing eyes. “It’s insane to expect perfection from our politicians- and don’t come at me with that ‘higher standard’ crap, that’s not what I’m talking about. Our elected officials are… well, they’re just people. They have relationships with other people and sometimes those people they have relationships with do things we don’t like. We can’t blame said officials for that simple fact of nature. Same goes for the twins. So she’s an unwed mother. So? She’s a damn good mom anyway. I don’t know when we started thinking of elected officials as gods.”

“Eloquently put,” Sam said, and smiled. 

“Sam slept with a call girl eleven years ago-”

“I didn’t know she was a call girl!”

“-and you think no one found out about that while he was running for congress? Or governor? You don’t think someone has that information right now? It really doesn’t matter if they do, because anyone with a brain knows that he did nothing wrong, and that lying about it was a simple human error. You don’t think there are people out there who would say that my PTSD makes me incapable of performing the job of Chief of Staff? We have to assume that the American people are more competent than we give them credit for. We have to assume that they can distinguish between a woman who was once married to and has children with an almost-felon and someone who isn’t going to be good at their job.” Josh sighed and stopped waving his arms. Toby’s expression had not changed, but Sam looked proud. “I got on my soapbox there a little bit, didn’t I?”

“A little, yeah,” Toby replied. 

“But he’s right.” Sam stood and put his arms around Josh’s shoulders.

“Look, Toby, you know I’m a pragmatist. We’ll have to run two campaigns at the same time: one to convince people to detach Andy from you and another to win the election, but I think it’s idiotic to not pick the best person for the job because people are stupid.” Toby watched him carefully from where he sat across the room. 

“...Call Andy. She’ll need to meet you in South Carolina as soon as possible.” Josh let out a breath that had been trapped in his throat. 

“So you think we can do it?”

“I don’t know if you can. I really don’t. But you’re right. It would be silly to pick someone else just because of me.” 

“I’m glad you’re with us, Toby. Really.” At that moment, Josh couldn’t possibly have felt more grateful to his old friend. His regrets only grew with every year they kept each other at arms’ length, but something about this, as impersonal as it was, felt like the gap was beginning to close. 

“Don’t get sappy. You guys have to take off before too long, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You want a cup of coffee before you go?” And there it is. The signal that he’s the same old Toby he’s always been, and that his relationship with Josh isn’t broken beyond repair. The one constant over the years—whenever any of them were up too late, unable to go home or just unwilling, Toby was there, with a hot cup of coffee placed silently on the corner of the desk. For a speechwriter, the words never seemed to come as easily to him as they did to Sam or C.J., but coffee was the one thing he could do, and so that was what he did. Josh had always appreciated that. Conversation rarely made him feel better, and honestly, the coffee itself didn’t help much, but it was the simple act of hot coffee, a genuine gesture without the ties of enduring promises. 

“We have eight more hours to drive today.” Josh smiled apologetically. Toby waved a hand.

“Don’t worry. You have things to do.”

“Thank you, though. Really.” And then Josh did something very impulsive and very unlike himself—he hugged Toby. He wasn’t really sure why, not then or later, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. He didn’t know when they would see each other next, and he wasn’t willing to pretend he could cope with the divide between them. At first, Toby froze. Josh honestly couldn’t remember the last time they had hugged. 

“Josh, what-”

“Just- just shut up.” Josh murmured. “Shut up and give me a fuckin’ hug, okay?” To his surprise, that’s just what Toby did. Standing in the living room of an apartment on quiet Grand Street, Josh hugged his friend for what was absolutely the first time since Sam left. “Sam, get in here.” Blindly, Josh grabbed Sam’s collar and pulled him into the hug. It had been the three of them, once. C.J. was there, so was Leo, and a half-dozen people who went in and out, but Josh and Sam and Toby were all linked in some inseparable way.

“Now who’s sappy?” Toby muttered, and they all laughed as they disentangled arms. “Go to South Carolina. Be the underdogs. Do what you do, and do it better than they do. Got it?”

“Got it.” Sam nodded and Josh gave a mock salute. Toby walked them to the door and watched them leave through the front window. He waved to them as they got in the car, and Josh felt lighter than he had in maybe years. Knowing he was back on Toby’s side, and that Toby was back on his made him feel better about the Donna situation. But then, he’d be seeing her in South Carolina, almost certainly, and they’d either have to maintain the facade or tell Sam on one of the biggest days of his life, and frankly, neither option was particularly ideal. Looking at Sam, giddy as a kid in a candy store, Josh couldn’t imagine ruining that. So they’d have to hold it together, for a few more days at least.

“I’ll call Andy and tell her to meet us down there.” Sam nodded and smiled even wider. 

“I’m glad this all worked out, you know?” Josh found it impossible not to smile right back.

“So am I. You’re going to do it. You’re really going to be the president, Sam.” Idealism made his mouth feel funny.

“Yeah.” Sam turned away from him and watched the White House slide by through the tinted windows. “I think maybe you’re right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this has been on a break for so long! I've run into a lot of other projects I need to work on, but I should get back to posting semi-regularly :)


	23. Chapter 23

The stadium where the convention was being held didn’t seem to have any air conditioning, and in Georgia in August, that meant the air in the whole place was stifling, Sam felt choked with every breath he took, and his heart couldn’t stop pounding in his chest. He smiled and applauded and shook hands with speakers and party members. His face never betrayed him, although his trembling hands occasionally did. He made it through every speech on day 1 without breaking his smile, and though he passed Santos and company in the tunnels once or twice, they never spoke. Donna was never with him, although Helen occasionally stood at his side, shooting daggers with her eyes- more at Josh than at Sam. They deserved it, and the longer they spent here, the more Sam felt that. They had a good number of delegates already, not quite enough to be sure, but some, and there were more on the fence, but there were also strong Santos advocates who looked like they might eat Sam for breakfast alongside their toast at the hotel continental breakfast if he so much as blinked wrong. 

He might have felt better if Andy had arrived, but even after 2 days she was still in Maryland and planned on flying down on the third day, just in time for the actual voting. Josh was holding him together with promises about delegates and the occasional yelling match deep in the tunnels of the stadium, but Sam still felt like a sweater with a loose thread, one sharp tug away from disintegration. The morning of day 2, Ginger came to knock on his door as she almost always did, but Sam was already awake. He hadn’t slept. He went downstairs for breakfast but found he couldn’t eat either. Josh managed to coax him into one cup of coffee and half a bagel, both of which he puked up in the bathroom an hour later. Sam was a nervous man, always had been. Neurosis came easily to him. Still, he had never been quite this nervous. Will didn’t help the situation. It would have been enough to make Sam implode just for Will to be floating around in the peripherals, but he was right there, all the time, with a new draft of the acceptance speech to be read over and a smile that said that absolutely nothing was wrong with this. 

Something was wrong, something was unthinkably wrong, and no one else seemed to realize it, which wasn’t surprising considering that they hadn’t realized when something was right. Which was Sam’s own damn fault in the first place, quite honestly, when he really thought about it. His head hurt just thinking about it. Running, that was what he wanted to do. He finally got to give the speeches he had been writing for over a decade, on the national stage. But being with Will was what he was meant to do, somehow. He could feel it in his gut, the same way he could feel the very beating of his heart. Destiny seemed like bullshit until they met, and just as Sam’s life had fallen apart in the years before that, it fell back together.

Sam didn’t have time to think about destiny much anymore. He knew Josh was handling the delegate count, and he also knew that with it this close on day 2, there would be no predicting anything until it was all over and they knew, even with the new additions from the Iowa delegation and the Virginia delegates they’d lost, which was about the only thing Sam could remember from the endless flood of information Josh had hit him with at breakfast. He was in the stadium bathroom now, staring at himself in the mirror, unable to move. The roll call would begin in less than an hour, and he would have to be back by then. Slowly, with shaking hands, Sam turned on the faucet and splashed himself in the face with cold water. He sucked in a sharp breath and shook out his shoulders as if to send his anxiety tumbling onto the floor. 

The stadium tunnels were dark and claustrophobic, and Sam honestly wished they could have just held the convention in the hotel, but no, the DNC required spectacle. 4,000 delegates, 43 speakers, and god knows who else, gathered in one place to see who would win out at last. As if it was a soccer game. Or a gladiator match. 

Josh and Amy were upstairs. They had been trying to win over delegates for almost nine consecutive hours. Sam could see through one of the tiny tunnel windows that it was getting dark out, which meant he didn’t have long to go. Waiting was always his least favorite part. Once they got to election day, he stood at Josh’s side the entire time, watching the count on the TV and poring over the results until he felt like his eyes would pop out of his head. It was the days, especially the last few hours, before the polls opened, when he was so exhausted he couldn’t keep his eyes open but so nervous he couldn’t sleep. The year he ran for governor, Josh flew out from D.C. and C.J. drove from Santa Monica to wait with him. They were here with him now. That was the only thing that made him feel better. 

“How are we?” he asked when he finally found the conference room buried deep in the administrative area of the stadium. He had never seen a room so packed, so loud, not even during Bartlet for America. He could hardly hear himself speak, but, he supposed, talking to Joey, that mattered very little. “Well, Josh texted a minute ago to say he’d be back down in just a minute with an update. I’ll have someone find you a phone.”

“Thanks.” Sam found himself a cup of coffee and downed it without sugar or cream, which was frankly revolting, and he didn’t need more energy, but it seemed like the thing to do. There wasn’t much else he could do other than wait. He never realized just how much of running for president was waiting. When you worked for a candidate, you never had a moment to think, but being the candidate meant thinking was all you could do. Thinking about plans for the transition period that Sam didn’t even know if he would get. Thinking about which bible he would be sworn in on at his inauguration, if he would be sworn in on a bible at all. Thinking about how he would go back to California without a presidency, without a governorship, without anything at all if he lost. Nothing to do but think.

“We got Kentucky!” Josh stormed in, holding his coffee cup high above his head like a trophy. His voice carried over the din that echoed around the small room.

“Really?” Sam hadn’t expected to get anything in Kentucky. The South, as a general rule, didn’t care for him. They thought him an elitist, high-horse know-it-all.

“They liked what you had to say about coal pollution last week. Santos hasn’t said anything at all about it, he’s still beating on education. I wouldn’t be surprised if we took a majority of Pennsylvania and Illinois by the second round of voting. Santos is down to nineteen hundred or so- Amy, wherever she is, has the exact number. He’s not going to win, not in the first round.” Josh squeezed Sam’s shoulder. “This is good.”

“Right. Yes. Good. Can someone get me a phone?” Sam called over his shoulder. “It’s time I got back down in the trenches with you.” Josh smiled curiously.

“The way I see it, you’ve been down here with me the entire time.” Someone found Sam a phone and a list of numbers. The waiting was over, at least for now. It was time to get down to business. 

Andy arrived at the stadium minutes after the first round of voting concluded, still clutching her suitcase.

“I’m sorry,” she said, joining Sam and Josh as they walked. 

“You’re here now,” Sam replied.

“And good thing, too, we’ve got twice as many calls to make. Everyone’s up for grabs.” Josh pulled his cell out of his pocket and tucked it between his ear and shoulder.

“You’re on board, then?” Sam asked, lowering his voice. “All in?”

“All in.” Andy squeezed his hand. “But that doesn’t matter yet. Let’s go get you some delegates.” The conference room was somehow more crowded than it had been in the morning. It was a full-on tug-of-war now, a complete toss-up to see who would be able to drag the rope over the red line first. It was a leverage game. Sam had his feet dug into the ground, but he was distracted, and he couldn’t be. Not now. His distraction stood across the room, a phone in one hand, a pen in the other, simultaneously writing and talking. The last convention, Will had been working for the opposition and Sam hadn’t been there at all. That was a mistake, and he was tired of making mistakes. 

“Excuse me. Someone find Andy a phone, please.” Sam slipped away from Josh and Andy and all the way to the corner of the room where Will was working.

“Hi,” he said, and shoved his hands into his pockets. Will held up a finger, still talking. 

“-and Governor Seaborn has shown massive gains against voter suppression in California, and he’ll do it for the whole country, you know he will and you know President Santos hasn’t, I- yes. Yes. Thank you.” He slammed the phone down into its cradle and beamed up at Sam.

“We just won you Georgia.”

“Really?”

“I fuckin’ hope so.” Sam pressed his lips together into a flat grin.

“Can we… do you want to get some air really quickly?”

“I… sure, I could use a break.” Will set down his legal pad and followed Sam silently through the dark halls until they found an open freight door. It had cooled down significantly outside, for which Sam was grateful, even as goosebumps ran up and down his arms. 

“You’re starting to pull ahead,” Will said, and ran a hand over his hair. He’d had a haircut in the last week, but he still looked nice.

“Kiss me,” Sam replied, rather abruptly, without turning to look at Will.

“What?”

“Or just… hold my hand. Just something. Anything. Just for a minute.”

“Sam-”

“Please. I’m about to find out whether this was all for nothing, and I can’t… I can’t have nothing when it’s over. If I don’t have the nomination, and I don’t have the governorship, at least let me keep you.”

“Am I a consolation prize?” Will raised his eyebrows and folded his arms across his chest. “Just something for you to keep when you lose?”

“No. You never were. You think I would have risked this all to be with you just to make you a consolation prize? You were the one who told me we couldn’t do this as long as I was running. That was you. If you wanted… I’d be back in your room every night in a second. You didn’t want me to lose and that’s fine, even if it’s stupid, but if I do lose I can’t have lost everything, and that was your rule. You didn’t want me to lose everything. So don’t let me.” They both fell silent, still staring out at the quiet Georgia evening. 

“I didn’t know.”

“What?” Will spoke so quietly Sam wasn’t sure whether he’d heard it or just imagined it.

“I didn’t know. This sounds stupid, but I didn’t know you liked me that much.”

“Are you dumb?”

“What?”

“I mean that. Are you actually stupid?”

“I like to think not.”

“I risked any chance at any major political office to be with you, and you didn’t know I liked you?”

“I kind of figured you were using me to blow off steam. You’re a pretty tightly-wound guy.”

“Will…” Without thinking, Sam turned and kissed Will, basking in the nighttime humidity and the feeling of Will’s hand once again on the small of his back. “You have a brilliant mind, William Bailey. A brilliant, brilliant political mind. If anything, that’s what I’m using you for.”

“Wait-”

“But I’m not using you for anything, nor have I ever been.” Will grimaced and adjusted his tie.

“You make this hard, you know that?”

“That’s the idea.”

“Tonight. If you lose. Come find me.” That was all Will said before squeezing Sam’s hand and departing back into the dark stadium. 

It was game time, and they all knew it. They knew it as they hung up the phones, they knew it as they walked through the dark and scorching halls of the stadium, and they knew it as they watched the first roll call be taken. 1,988 votes for President Matthew Vincente Santos. 1,902 votes for California Governor Samuel Norman Seaborn. No one achieved a majority, and that was what Sam and Josh had been going for. They walked back to the conference room quickly and silently. Every single person in the room found a phone and the calls resumed, to the superdelegates and to all the delegates now. Josh had a marker out and was scribbling wildly on a whiteboard. It looked like a Sharpie instead of an Expo, but Sam let it be. The eleventh hour was always Sam’s time. Josh was fantastically smart, and he could do a great many things, but panicked when he was put on a deadline. Will was extremely methodical, and managed his time so that he never had to rush. Amy was a wild card in and of herself. This was Sam’s time. And then, only forty minutes later, Josh pulled the phone out of Sam’s hand by its cord and jerked his head towards the door.

“It’s go time,” he said, unable to disguise the quiver in his voice.

“Who’s the man?” Sam asked.

“I’ll answer that in twenty minutes.” Josh smiled, and then did something uncharacteristically affectionate: he kissed Sam’s cheek. He was the best friend Sam had ever had, and the best friend he ever would have. There was nothing romantic between them, and never was, but a hug or a handshake didn’t seem to cover all that needed to be covered in these last few seconds. He threw his jacket on and tossed Sam’s to him. “Let’s go.” Despite the heat, Sam shivered, but he walked. He just had to keep walking.

Just outside the stadium floor, a crowd had gathered. The Secret Service pushed a path both in front and behind, but noise and heat clouded Sam’s head so that he didn’t see the flash of blonde hair until he nearly collided with the person attached to it.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry-” He stumbled back into Josh, and their small procession stopped like dominoes. 

“No, you’re- Sam?” His eyes cleared, and there she was. She looked more polished than he remembered.

“Donna?”

“Hi.” Her eyes flicked to Josh, just behind Sam, and she forced a narrow smile. Sam finally noticed who she was with. “Mrs. Santos. Hello.”

“Governor.” Helen Santos, who had always been kind, if detached, grimaced. And behind her-

“Mr. President.” They had managed to avoid each other at nearly every crossroads, so it was only fitting that they would finally collide here. 

“Governor Seaborn.” Imposing and unbreakable as ever, the president towered over Sam, and he knew it. There was always something about the way he knew he was the tallest, strongest, most powerful person in the room that grated on Sam. Bartlet was the smartest person he had ever known, and although it could be frustrating, it was impossible not to respect. Santos, however, had very little backing his bravado. He was big and strong and empty. “Good luck,” Sam said, and although he didn’t mean it, he could tell no one had expected him to say it at all.

“Thank you.” The president didn’t repeat the sentiment. They regarded each other coldly and quietly. Sam decided it was time for bold strokes, and extended his hand. Santos lurched back, as if Sam had thrown a punch. 

“Whatever happens now, we ought to at least respect each other. Don’t you think?” A camera flashed somewhere behind Sam and he pushed down a smirk. Santos couldn’t refuse a show of reconciliation with his former Chief of Staff and his deputy, not with cameras around. With an almost imperceptible huff, the president shook Sam’s hand, keeping his arm stiff, as though Sam might try to yank it off. He smiled once for the cameras and then turned on his heel, trailing his wife and Donna behind him. Donna didn’t look over her shoulder as she went. Then Josh’s hand was on Sam’s back, comforting him as much as steering him through the path that Santos left in his wake. The stadium itself was bigger, somehow, than it had been earlier, and louder. Whether that was the superdelegates’ arrival or merely a manifestation of Sam’s own head wasn’t clear. All that was clear was that Sam needed 2,376 delegates to win, and if neither he nor Santos had that in this round of voting, there would be another and another and another until they did.

Sam’s surroundings took him like the audio-visual representation of a head rush. He leaned on Josh for support as a wave of nausea hit him, and although Josh and Will exchanged a concerned glance that they thought Sam couldn’t see, the three of them, trailed by the rest of their staff, made their way backstage. They settled in to watch on the War Room TVs as every state, beginning with Alabama and ending with Wyoming, cast their votes at either Sam or Santos. He wasn’t paying attention when the speaking began, but saw Josh scribble something in his notebook as the Alabama delegate sat down. There were two columns on the wide-rule page, titled  _ US  _ and  _ THEM.  _ Under the  _ US,  _ a small, chicken-scratch 46. Under  _ THEM,  _ 14\. Alaska followed Alabama, and a 14 appeared under  _ THEM.  _ 5 for  _ US.  _ Back and forth Josh went with his pen, scrawling numbers as each delegate spoke for their state and then sat down. So on it went, Josh with his eyes locked on the TV and Sam with his eyes locked on Josh’s notebook, not listening to anything happening around him. His only clue that anything was happening was when Josh’s pen froze on the page, letting ink soak into the paper, more ice than man.

“What? What?” Sam hissed and watched Josh begin to move again, now more mechanical. 5-5-1, the numbers streamed out in blue ink on one side. 0 on the other. Slowly, Sam’s eyes traced back up the columns to see who, who could possibly have taken an entire state, which state he couldn’t think.  _ US.  _ Us. 551, that was California. All 551 delegates from California, 476 pledged and 75 superdelegates. All of them for  _ US.  _ For him. Someone’s hand squeezed Sam’s shoulder, probably Amy’s, judging by the silver rings on every finger. They were no longer neck-and-neck, and Sam had taken his own state back, every last district. Delaware came next, and D.C., and Florida, each of which split between the candidates. Josh kept writing and Sam kept watching. 

After an hour of sitting and watching and waiting, Santos was hot on Sam’s heels, but still had not managed to close the gap that California put between them. 2,189 delegates for Sam, 1,744 for Santos. The delegate from Tennessee, who Sam had spoken to on the phone but couldn’t quite remember the name of, cleared his throat. He began by speaking the praises of his home state, some nonsense about Graceland and the Norris Dam, and then paused, looking down at his notes. “Tennessee awards its 75 delegates to President Matthew Santos.” Josh grumbled something incomprehensible. He had been thinking about how to win Tennessee for weeks, but none of it had paid off. Oh, well. It was only 75 votes, Sam reminded himself. 75 votes to be followed by Texas’s 294, all of which would go to the President and Texas’s former congressman. They had known this for months, and it was why they had only spent three days in Texas. The Tennessee delegate sat down and the Texas delegate took the floor. Josh preemptively had his pen to the paper and was beginning to write when the delegate from Texas started speaking.

“The great state of Texas pledges 104 delegates to President Matthew Santos-” a murmur. Josh’s head shot up and his hand flew to his mouth, leaving a haphazard streak of ink across the page. “-and 190 delegates to Governor Sam Seaborn.” The pen and notebook fell from Josh’s hands and clattered to the floor, but Sam couldn’t hear them over the roar in his ears. 190. 2,189 delegates plus 190 delegates… 2,379. A mere 3 votes put Sam over 50%. 3 votes from the sitting president’s home state, and they had won Sam the nomination. They would still tally the remainder of the votes, but it was over. Josh threw his arms around Sam and squeezed so hard Sam heard something crack.

“You did it!” Josh shouted, and Sam just shook his head.

“No. You did.” He sidestepped Josh, who was going in to hug Amy anyway, and came face-to-face with Andy. “Are you ready?” Andy flipped her hair over her shoulder.

“Born ready.” She kissed his cheek and pulled out her phone, presumably to call Toby. As his friends gathered around the TV to watch the final states count their votes, Sam turned his back on them. There was a second TV on the opposite wall, and Will was still watching, unmoved by their success. 

“Will!” Sam called. Will turned to look over his shoulder, the fluorescent television glow casting a brilliant glow across the side of his face. He pushed his glasses up into his hair and adjusted his rolled up sleeves to cover the edge of his tattoo, which was just barely visible below the cuff. “Come celebrate,” Sam said, and beckoned him over. Will didn’t move, and after a moment, it became clear why. His eyes had a glassy sheen over them, and in the light of the TV, his tear-streaked cheeks glistened.

“No,” he replied, and shook his head. The delicate quiver in his voice beneath all the excitement and hope was a bone-chilling gust of wind on an otherwise perfect summer day. “I want to watch you win.” Will turned back to the TV, and someone grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled him back into the fray, and there they stood late into the night, watching and no longer waiting.

Wednesday evening, Andrea Wyatt spoke and was nominated to be the vice presidential candidate for the Democratic party. Thursday evening, Sam waited backstage, pacing, as Andy watched from the corner.

“They’ll just be another minute-”

“I need the final draft, Andy. I can’t accept the nomination without a speech-”

“First and foremost, yes, you absolutely could, but you won’t have to, because-” Before she could finish, the doors flew open and Charlie rushed in with Will at his heels. Sam and Will hadn’t spoken since the roll call, but he held the final draft of Sam’s speech and offered it earnestly.

“Give it a look.” Sam skimmed the speech. Little had changed, but the few changes were necessary.

“It’s excellent. As always.”

“Thanks.” Charlie beamed. It still blew Sam away, how different he was now from the kid he had practically affronted in the Roosevelt Room 11 years ago. He could hold his own with a writer like Will, and Sam had a feeling that in another couple of decades, Charlie would be standing in his shoes. 

“Sam.” Josh appeared suddenly. “It’s almost time. You ready?”

“Well, I’m about to accept the nomination that I won over the sitting president, which means slightly less than half of the party wants my head on a pike.”

“Well, at least you know it’s slightly less than half.”

“Is this worth it?” Sam asked, shifting the temperature of the conversation. “I mean… it is. But you left the White House to challenge the sitting president. No other presidential hopeful is ever going to hire you, not now that they think it’s so easy for you to leave.” Josh let out a sigh.

“Leaving Santos was the hardest thing I have ever done and I’m not afraid to say it. You’re my best friend, but feeling like I was betraying the office, even more than betraying the man… I don’t know that I’ll ever find forgiveness for that. This is all I can do to try. To put the best man in that office.”

“We’ve all done things we can’t forgive ourselves for,” Sam murmured and adjusted his tie. “We live with our choices.”

“Surprisingly cynical coming from you.”

“Not at all. Just because I can’t forgive myself for some things doesn’t mean I regret them. The choices I made changed the course of my life and they’re what got me here, and although some things may be painful and although I regret that I have ever caused anyone else pain, this is where I’m meant to be.”

“Really? Who have you hurt, you big marshmallow?”

“I have two ex-fiances, parents I haven’t spoken to in six years, and a whole world of people you don’t even know about.” Behind them, Sam can hear Will talking to Andy. “I’m not a perfect person. Neither are you. All we can do is try.” Josh didn’t respond, but he nudged Sam’s shoulder.

“It’s go time, buddy.” Sam stared out at the stage that seemed to lie a thousand feet away. His head felt like it could split in two from all the noise, but he held it together. There was no falling apart now. Josh gave him a gentle push between the shoulder blades, and then, in the blink of an eye, he was on the stage, grinning and waving and praying through clenched teeth. There was a podium centerstage, probably the same podium that Matt Santos had delivered his acceptance speech from four years previous. He took his place behind it, and felt smaller than ever, now faced with the entire convention. He had his speech in hand, and glanced down at it once while silence settled over the entire stadium. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his friends slip into the audience.

“Thank you to all of you here today for the warmth with which I have been received. Thank you to my family-” his eyes met Josh’s, and they exchanged a smile. “-and friends who came with me this week. I had the honor of working alongside some of the greatest people I have ever known in order to get here today, and I am so fortunate to be able to continue to work with them as we move towards November. I also owe a debt of gratitude to everyone who worked on this campaign across the country. Over the last three days, you have heard from dozens of people who have worked hard their entire lives to serve the people of the United States, none of whom I would like to thank more than President Santos.” Even with the lights in his eyes, Sam saw more than a few heads pop up at that. “President Matthew Santos served his country first in the Air Force, then in his home state of Texas, and most recently as our commander-in-chief, and the work he has done for this country is deserving of the utmost respect.” Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Will in the front row, eyes closed, mouthing along to the words that belonged to him. Sam was merely borrowing them for the moment. Everything he had was borrowed, he realized. He lived on borrowed time that he would have to give back at the next election cycle. For the time being, though, he owned this time, and he owned this stage, and he would have to act like it. He straightened his shoulders and raised his chin. “And thank you to Andrea Wyatt, whose leadership and friendship has helped put me on this path. It is only right that she should be joining me as we persevere. I do not pretend to be all-knowing, and I do not pretend that all of the problems of this nation can be solved by one man, but I submit that that is not the sole purpose of a president. You have not selected me to stand before you today because you believe I am capable of solving every problem set before us on my own. You have nominated me because you believe I am capable of unifying a country that, for too long, has stood as 309.3 billion individuals, rather than one nation. The country’s motto has gone forgotten.  _ E pluribus unum _ . Out of many, we are one. This not an ‘us’ versus ‘them’, it’s us versus ourselves. It’s time to begin stitching up the wounds that divide us and facing our problems instead of pretending they don’t exist. We must combat systemic racism and stop acting like just acknowledging its existence is enough. We must create safe and accessible paths to citizenship for all immigrants, documented and undocumented alike, because we are at our core a nation of immigrants. We must lower the cost of living and raise the minimum wage, rather than allowing the working class to slip through the cracks in a system built to benefit the 1%. We must build schools and train teachers and reform education so that access is equal across racial, gender, and socioeconomic boundaries, and then we must create restrictive gun laws in order to protect children in those schools.” Sam was building up speed, and he could feel the energy in the room growing. It had always seemed miraculous to him, how words could do that.

“Seven years ago, as many of you may remember, I was roped into a crazy congressional campaign for a dead man. Although there was no candidate anymore, there were ideas, ideas that inspired a consistently red district to elect a Democrat not just once but twice. It is the ideas, the solutions, that give us the strength to rely on each other. We cannot ignore our past, but we cannot live on the assumptions that events of our past decide our future. We are fighting for a future in which everyone stands on equal ground, in which love and respect are our defining qualities-” He gives a brief pause for effect. “-and in which the successor to the first Latino president can be the first gay president. That future, and the belief we all share in it, is why I am standing at this podium this evening, and it is why I am proud to accept your nomination for President of the United States.” The stadium erupted in applause, and Sam took a step back, surprised, but amused. 

“I have had three lifetimes’ worth of careers, as an attorney, as a writer, and as a public servant,” he said, stepping back to the microphone. Being able to command a room was a quality he had always thought was for other people, more powerful people, and at this moment, he joined their ranks. “You all have known my name for years, first as the lunatic who would be willing to take over a dead man’s congressional campaign, and then as the California governor who signed gay marriage into law, and now as your nominee for President of the United States. I am immensely proud of all of the work that I have managed to do as a public servant, but the service I am most proud of was not public. My greatest work, the best speeches I have ever written, the policies I helped design, the candidates I helped to put in office, they do not bear my name. Praise is not and should not be the end goal of public service. We are here for the people of this great nation, to give them the best opportunities that we humanly can. That includes  _ all  _ people. Every race, every class, every religion, every gender, every sexual orientation, every political party, and every immigration status. Everyone. We are reaching a milestone in our history. In the last year, we have seen the first Latino president in President Matthew Santos, the first female presidential candidate in Senator Ainsley Hayes, the first female vice presidential candidate in Congresswoman Andrea Wyatt, and the first openly gay presidential candidate. Me. We’ve shown what people can do when given the chance for greatness and now we will make sure that everyone gets that chance. We cannot and will not become stagnant at this point in our progress. We have come out of the cave and we cannot stop now. Every generation before us has made progress that was previously thought impossible, and so what we must do now is look to the future. We are standing at the end of an unfinished road, paved by our predecessors, and it is now our sacred duty to take up their tools and continue their work. We must act as one nation, one body, one soul. We must lend a hand to those of us who have been left behind and continue this great and powerful fight until we all stand on equal ground. The world is watching, and it is time for us to take the next step. Let us look to the future, to the new history we will create, and ensure that it is a history that we can be proud of. Thank you.” 

Sam stepped back once again to raucous applause, and then Andy was beside him, smiling and waving. He couldn’t see much with the blinding lights over his head, but he could see the first row. At one end, the Santoses had their arms around each other, and to their credit, smiled and applauded politely. Beside Helen, Donna clapped for a few seconds and then slipped out, disappearing into the dark space beyond the front door. Sam’s other friends sat at the other end. He could see Josh, clapping and whooping. He could see Charlie and C.J., both texting their spouses, who were probably at home watching anyway. He could see Amy with her arms around Joey, who was signing something to Kenny. And, in the corner, almost hidden behind the camera crews, he could see Will, applauding louder than anyone else. Whatever he was feeling, it didn’t show. He mouthed something, and although he was yards away and the room was thundering with noise, Sam could read his lips.

_ I love you. _

That didn’t change anything. 

Nothing had changed. The plan was still the same. They were on the path that they all intended to take. And, yet…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I know it's been a hot minute since I updated, and I'm so sorry! Life kind of caught up to me, but I like to think that the amount of time I spent on this chapter was worth it. Thanks for reading!


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